Deconstructing the Past
by No.13
Summary: On September 1st, 1971, James Potter wakes up and remembers the future. Meanwhile, Harry Potter and two illustrious others go time traveling. And Severus Snape, the Marauders and the rest of Hogwarts find themselves in the middle of an attempt to rewrite the past.
1. The temporal conundrum

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, obviously.

**Warnings: **None as of yet (perhaps mood whiplash). Later chapter will involve violence, bloodshed and death. Thus, please keep an eye out for the warnings appearing on each chapter.

**AN: **This is a project I have wanted to do for a looong time now. I'm not as far done with it yet as I usually like to, when I start posting, but the plot line is done, so let's hope the execution follows. Thus, updates may take time at some points. If all ends up as expected, this fic will cover all the seven years spent at Hogwarts as well as one afterwards. Central figures are James, Snape, Harry and Tom Riddle. Also, concerning BE and AE: erhm, I did learn British English at school, though my spell check is set to AE. Thus, feel free to point out the resulting oddities. But now, enough ramblings, here goes nothing.

* * *

**The temporal conundrum**

One September 1st of 1971, James Potter woke up and remembered.

The birds were chirping outside, and he remembered spending seven years at Hogwarts, taking his NEWTS, marrying Lily Evans, the green light of the Avada Kedavra, and then another seventeen years of watching over his son while dead, until his son finally, at a terrible price, triumphed over Voldemort.

James shook his head and let his gaze wander listlessly through his room. The shelves were stuffed with toys, a few books and all in their typical state of creative disarray. The stuffed dragon (it spit red light, like real fire, if one tickled its stomach) sat right next to his bed, where he had set it last night before falling asleep. So how did he come to recall being married?

And being dead…

James Potter was eleven years old, and today would be the first time in his life to even set foot into Hogwarts. And he'd never met Lily Evans, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape or anyone else he remembered so suddenly.

Still, he was fairly certain those were memories, and not a nightmare. He took a deep breath, and sat up with a shake of his head.

A crack and a house elf appeared near his bed.

"Master James needs to get up. Must get ready for Hogwarts," said the elf with exuberant cheer, and James nodded listlessly. When the small creature had gone, humming how his little master was growing up, he pushed the covers back.

James ran a hand through his tousled hair. Well, today was going to be weird.

* * *

Harry Potter tilted his head up, letting his gaze travel slowly over the vast grounds behind the heavy, iron-wrought gates. Way ahead rose the tall spires of Hogwarts, proud against a wide, blue sky; and beyond them green, rolling hills.

He took a deep breath of fresh air.

The forbidden forest to both sides of the way from Hogsmeade to the castle was calm; just as he remembered it to be when he had attended Hogwarts – there was no clue to the fact that the year was not 1996, but 1971.

It had sounded like a good idea in principle to go back and change the past. Now, however, he found himself lacking a detailed strategy. And Hermione was not there to help either.

He hadn't even taken a history book or two from his time.

Well, at least he'd gotten the job as Defense against the Dark Arts Professor.

Now he only had to hope to escape Dumbledore's attempts at Legilimency until he either learned to occlude, or finally had an idea of how to proceed. Other than his plan of stopping Voldemort before he got a chance to kill his parents.

At least that still sounded like a good idea.

* * *

If there was one thing James Potter knew, than that he was in dire need of some quiet time to think. All day now unfamiliar memories had crept upon him, torn him straight out of conversations and almost made him walk into an actual wall.

His parents kept laughing, petting his head, telling him not to be nervous, Hogwarts was going to be great. Strangely enough, knowing that Hogwarts was going to be great made him much more insecure.

And then, at King's Cross, a short, brown-haired girl ran past him.

James' heart stuttered. He knew her name was Amanda Matthews, and she would die eight years from now, murdered by death eaters while on an excursion with her family. He had been one of the aurors called to the scene – he had seen her bloodied face, dead eyes staring sightlessly up at an overcast sky.

It was all he could do to stumble after his parents. His hands felt clammy, his stomach rolled – and all he wanted was to get away from these people, and their sick and horrible futures. Maybe he ought just to stay away from Hogwarts – then he would not have to see any of this, would not have to see people die.

"James, sweety, don't be that nervous. I'm sure you will make lots of friends – always remember, all the other new students are just the same as you are, so why don't you go ahead and try to make friends first?" his mother had crouched down, and was smiling at him.

"Listen to your mother," his father added, resting a warm hand on his shoulder.

And with a forced smile, James boarded the Hogwarts express. In his confusion he did not look back, but headed straight for the first empty compartment he could find, storing away his trunk before dropping into the worn seat with a sigh. He felt shaky in a way he had not felt before. When he had woken up earlier this morning, those memories had been bewildering, strange – but their true horror only began to show now that he found himself surrounded by people he knew would die in a horrible fashion or end up committing terrible crimes.

The memory of how much fun Hogwarts had been had faded instantly.

And if he was going to survive the next seven years, he needed to find a way to cope. He couldn't just go around telling people – they'd lock him away in 's at once. Maybe he could learn to ignore what he knew. Maybe he could…

The door to his compartment was pulled open, and in stumbled – unlike he remembered – Sirius Black, looking annoyed in his very proper high-collared, embroided white shirt and black trousers. James' heart skipped a beat – whattodo howtoact howtomake -

His thoughts drew to a sudden halt. He and Sirius had not met like this in his memory. Which meant …

"Quit staring at me," Sirius said, "I didn't choose to wear this."

"No, I didn't think so," replied James, "I wouldn't have worn that either."

Sirius grimaced. "Obviously you get to have a say, then. I'm Sirius, by the way."

James returned the grin – contagious, really – and shook the outstretched hand. For a split second, memories flashes through his mind – wild, exhilarated laughter, shouting matches, an aloof-looking mother, a stern father, a big black dog, more shouting, and then those long, depressing years in Azkaban until everything came to a dreary finale that night at the ministry – and then those were gone and James couldn't help but detach those memories from the cheerful boy in front of him.

"Well, Sirius Noname, I'm James Potter. Nice to meet you?" He tilted his head.

"Always a pleasure to meet you, as long as your last name isn't Malfoy. Or Black. Or … say, you don't have any ambitions to join Syltherin, do you?" Sirius got up and begun rummaging in his trunk.

"None whatsoever," replied James. His memories may have informed him that there was a lot of prejudice involved here – but that did not change that he, especially in light of his knowledge, would not like to join said house, and he still had overheard those quiet conversations between his parents – in which they discussed politics and houses.

"Great. Glad to meet you then. I'm trying not to head there, either," Sirius eventually procured a high-quality black robe from his trunk, "May be a little hard though, seeing how my entire family ended up there. But well, I'll change first. Everything else comes later."

* * *

Getting to know Sirius once again was much more fun than James had expected. Even though from time to time his "memories" got in the way – providing him with knowledge that made him want to protest – mostly this was entirely different from the first time around, yet still absolutely awesome.

It was some time into the ride, that Lily and Snape stumbled into their compartment. And a memory replayed itself, almost word by word. Hostility flared instantly between Sirius and Snape, while James couldn't blushing when he looked at Lily – she was cute, but those memories of being married made him feel rather uncomfortable right now.

Sirius then said something negative about Slytherin, and Snape snapped back. James, with a grin that felt familiar, sarcastically countered Snape's argument. And at that moment James realized that, even if their lines had changed, their personalities were the same as he remembered.

Did that mean things would play out the same way to?

Would he marry Lily, and die? Would Sirius go to Azkaban, and die? Would Snape join Voldemort, and die?

An ice cold sensation crept down his back. Was everybody going to die? Did it mean nothing that their lines had changed?

Lily was already out in the corridor, her hand firmly clasped around Snape's wrist, and Sirius kept laughing. James swallowed. Unbidden, the memories rose - Snape protecting Harry, brewing late in the night, stumbling back from another meeting and another, until there was hardly any life left beyond those eyes, and Voldemort ordering his death had seemed more like relief than betrayal.

That was the future.

Unless...

James reached out and managed to get a grip on Snape's other arm, before Lily had managed to drag him out of the compartment.

"Calm down," he said, though he didn't quite know what else he was supposed to say. Sirius had stopped laughing at least, and raised an eyebrow, "Sorry if I upset you, I wasn't being really serious."

Snape turned to look wearily at him, while Sirius – for a moment – stared at James as if he had grown a second head. Then he snorted.

"True, I'm Sirius, after all," the dark-haired boy grinned, "Now, I don't think we heard your names yet."

Lily had relaxed at James' apology, and shut the door of the compartment. "Lily Evans," then she gave Snape a small push.

"Severus Snape," he said unwillingly.

"So, what makes you think is so great about being in Slytherin?" Sirius challenged, "My whole family's been there, and they're all completely nuts."

Lily opened her mouth, looking scandalized. James, however, was quite intrigued to see understanding cross Snape's face.

"And you think they're nuts because they've been in Slytherin?" asked Snape, while raising an eyebrow.

Sirius shrugged. "Well, if you knew them, you could tell there's a relation between those two. But then again, looking at you, you'd probably …"

James felt like groaning, but there was a soft knock on the door to their compartment, and before their argument could erupt anew, the door was opened by a brown-haired boy.

"Hello, I was wondering, is there still room in here?" he asked shyly.

James' felt his face lit up as he recognized Remus Lupin. At eleven he had far less scars then the man James had seen in his memories, but the way he held himself was strikingly similar. He was smaller than Sirius, but only a little smaller than James – and smaller than Lily, who was still standing.

"Sure, there's more than enough room over here," said James, "Why don't you sit down?"

"Thanks. I'm Remus Lupin, by the way," he closed the door behind him and dropped down next to Sirius.

"James Potter," he inclined his head, then nodded over to Sirius, "In the opposite corner we have Sirius Black. The redhead here is Lily Evans, and this –" he gave Snape's arm a shake, "- is Severus Snape. And I'm sure we're all very pleased to make your acquaintance."

There was a moment of utter silence. Only the clatter of the train filled the space between the five of them.

"Well, you heard his majesty," said Sirius eventually, "And will you all just sit down? I swear those seats don't bite!"

Lily eventually took the seat next to James, and he could have sworn there was faint smile on her face. Snape took the seat next to Lily in obvious confusion, and Remus dropped down next to Sirius with a relieved sigh.

"So, we were just talking about what houses we think we're going to be in," James took up their earlier conversation, "How about you?"

"I don't really know. Maybe Ravenclaw?", said Remus and from there they started a conversation that easily managed to fill the remaining hours of the train ride. Sirius and Snape still did not get along, but, James resumed, he had made an effort.

He certainly didn't like the dark-haired kid that almost seemed to hide behind Lily – his instincts were screaming. However those thrice-damned memories just made everything far more complicated. He couldn't well hate somebody who had helped a great deal in defeating the most evil wizard alive.

Sirius and Remus, however, were great. James felt they'd get along like a house on fire – just as he recalled. Maybe he ought to push Remus to reveal his secret a little earlier, as the boy appeared quite bothered by it. And Sirius was fantastic – even though from his memories James thought the other boy was a bit too reckless, a bit too spirited – but talking to him, James found he wouldn't have him any other way.

This left only Peter Pettigrew. According to his recollections he would only meet the boy in their dormitory in Gryffindor. Unless, of course, the course of events had changed.

Which had already started, James thought, his gaze lingering on Lily sitting in his compartment. Perhaps right now it was only their lines that were changing; places and the order in which things had occurred – but perhaps this could lead to more fundamental changes.

Maybe he ought to have thought about things a bit longer before he had stopped following the script. Maybe those memories were to have been his manual on how to defeat You-Know-Who. Maybe he had just crushed all their chances by his selfish decision to make Lily and Snape stay.

Maybe he was being selfish.

But, hearing Sirius laugh, seeing Lily smile and Remus nod cheerfully, he really did not want to watch them all die again.

_tbc_

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_Please feel free to share your thoughts and impressions with me. :-)  
_


	2. Setting the Stage

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, obviously.

**Warnings: **Mood whiplash.

* * *

2. **Setting the Stage**

Harry Potter – or rather, professor Hamil Parker (he had had to make up a pseudonym on the spot. And obviously, he was better at defeating dark lords than making up fake names) – glanced around, and straightened the last chair in the classroom. Defense against the Dark Arts – well, he was certainly qualified, even though it had been a little cumbersome to gather the necessary credentials at a time he hadn't even been born. The rough plan he had in mind however, was working, it seemed.

Having stood in the great hall, overseeing the devastation around him; the wizarding world in shambles, he had realized that he may have won against Voldemort – just like Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald. In the end, he had triumphed over the symptom, not the problem itself – one that had been in existence for a long time already, though only Voldemort's first rise had brought it to the forefront. Defeating Voldemort, however, had in the end not changed a thing.

In other words, he hadn't seen the wizarding world recovering. Instead, in the weeks following the final battle, he witnessed a steady withdrawal of muggleborns and half-bloods from their world. Some wizarding parents even decided to send their magical children to normal schools, preferring to keep any tutoring in magic within the family. The ministry was crumbling, and many of the old families left the country.

Even three month after the war was over, Diagon Alley remained far from its former cheer and splendor. And Harry had decided he had to do something. Had desperately wished to change things, before it got to the point of no return.

And at some point he'd voiced these thoughts to Ginny, Hermione and Ron – and then, somehow, he had ended up standing at the Hogwarts Gate in 1971. His memories were still blurry on the how, but Harry had decided those were not the questions – here was his chance to stop Voldemort's first rise to power. To save dozens of lives.

To save his own parents.

And with this in mind, he'd decided to apply for a job at Hogwarts. His interview with Dumbledore had gone well, and now, a week later, he had his own chambers at Hogwarts, and would start teaching tomorrow, under the pseudonym of Hamil Parker.

He'd assured everybody who'd inquired that he was from Surrey, and yes, his parents had both been muggles, and then he'd gone and dyed his hair, charmed the lenses of his glasses to change the color of his eye to a warm brown and purchased some rather strict robes he'd never worn otherwise.

Fashion of the seventies, he learned that moment, did not quite agree to his fashion sense, little developed as it was. Ginny, he recalled with a sad smile, would have run screaming.

What was she doing now? Did she miss him?

He missed her like nothing else, yet he knew…

Harry shook his head, chasing those thoughts away. He had classes to teach, names to learn and a mission to fulfill. Now was not a time to be maudlin.

And when he came to think just who all he was going to be teaching, he couldn't help but feel a small spark of excitement blossom in his stomach. He was going to see his parents – finally, finally, he'd see them. And Sirius and Remus would be there as well. Alive, young, cheerful, free of worries – he hardly could imagine them as such. And not only them – Harry had felt his own eyes widen when he had for the first time glanced over the name lists for his classes – so many illustrious pupils he would have.

Narcissa and Bellatrix Black – while he did not particularly want to meet them, he found himself a bit curious just what kind of teenagers those two had been. Lucius Malfoy had appeared on his list as well, as did Rufus Scrimgeour and Arthur Weasley. He hadn't found Molly's name yet – instead, he spied the names Rita Skeeter and Dolores Umbridge.

Getting to know them all would be quite a little adventure, Harry thought.

And a glance at the clock told him it was time. The welcoming feast was about to begin.

* * *

The Great Hall, James contemplated, looked exactly as it had done in his recollections. All the people he recognized were seated in exactly the places he remembered.

Only when he gazed up at the High Table, he found an unfamiliar face sitting next to Flitwick. This teacher had not been there in his memory – or had he just forgotten about him? James blinked, then looked away when said teacher's curious gaze met his.

It was odd to glance around and to find everything completely novel, yet familiar at the same time. Already he could see how those recollections could be useful – the moment he'd caught sight of Professor McGonagall he distinctly recalled sitting in her lessons – yet at the same time the memories made him weary. They may give him away, betray he knew more than he ought to.

However, he realized, while Opsburg, Olivia was sorted into Hufflepuff, those memories might be his ticket to perfect grades and little homework. A smile spread over his face, and he glanced at the Gryffindor table, where Sirius and Remus were already being entertained (or rather entertaining, in Sirius' case) their fellow students.

"Potter, James," McGonagall's voice cut through his contemplations, and James dutifully put the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Hmm, already been sorted, have you?" the object grumbled, and James flinched – how on earth could the hat know? – then shoved those thoughts into the darkest corner of his mind.

"Not really, no," he replied.

"But you remember being sorted. Among other things," the head returned.

"I don't know why I remember all that," James returned, wondering if the Hat might be able to provide him with answers.

"Oh, you do remember why, you do," the Hat chuckled, "Though now let me do my job. Hmm… if you've got no objections, I'd still say Gryffindor."

Thinking about Remus, Sirius and Lily made him nod vigorously.

"Gryffindor it is!"

And with that James Potter was sorted into Gryffindor house. Again.

* * *

At the High Table Harry Potter was following the sorting with interest.

"Well, the family's descended from Godric himself," Slughorn commented airily next to him, "I didn't expect anything else for young Mister Potter here."

Harry nodded. James' sorting had taken a little longer than he had anticipated – also his father appeared quieter than Snape's memory of this sorting ceremony had lead him to expect. The boy in Snape's memory had been beaming widely at everyone in sight, chatting excitedly and had barely been able to stand still. This James Potter appeared rather contemplative in comparison.

Maybe Snape's memory had been skewered.

Or maybe the past was already changing. James had looked at Harry, with a curious expression on his face. Then he'd been distracted by Sirius, who'd been giving a running commentary to, apparently, the amusement of everybody in his vicinity. Even McGonagall's lips kept twitching.

And then Sirius has proceeded to cause the scandal of this year's sorting ceremony by getting himself sorted into Gryffindor with a wide grin on his face. There had been a lot of gasping; mostly from the Slytherin table, but also from Slughorn and other teachers. Harry, not very surprised at the development itself, had used the time to catalogue everyone's reaction.

On the Slytherin side, Bellatrix looked ready to start casting curses (she did look much better than Harry when Harry had known her in his own time, but the expression in her eyes had not changed), Lucius seemed badly startled, and Narcissa had paled dramatically – the rest of the table alternated between looking shocked, offended, or angry.

Meanwhile, the Gryffindor table was cheering loudly, supported – if tentatively – by Ravenclaw, and a number of Hufflepuffs. McGonagall did not look exactly happy at the development – understandably, since Harry realized, from a teacher's point of view, Sirius had "troublemaker" written all over him.

Dumbledore merely watched with twinkling eyes.

Which he still did when Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and James Potter were sorted into Gryffindor. Harry on the other hand had to take a deep breath from time to time and remind himself that this was real – and he had to make sure he did not screw up.

Yet the notion was impossibly hard to grasp. Now, for the first time in his life, he wasn't watching his parents in a picture or somebody else's memory – he was watching them alive, and in real time. There was no layer separating them here – if he wanted, he could go down and talk to them.

In a way, the idea was overwhelming.

Harrry returned from his contemplations the moment Snape, Severus was sorted. He watched the thin boy join Slytherin, while casting a longing look at Lily over his shoulder – who smiled back.

This wasn't the time to remember how things had turned out, Harry told himself – he had returned to change that, after all. So he resolved to concentrate on his plan in general and the present moment in particular, and by the time Xun, Xanthippa had been sorted into Slytherin and Dumbledore had given his opening speech, he felt fairly hungry.

"Well, looks as if it's going to be another interesting year," Flitwick commented somewhere from Harry's left. With Slughorn and another professor between them, Harry no chance of actually catching sight of him.

"Certainly. But did you expect for Black to sort into Gryffindor? I most certainly did not," Slughorn commented.

"It's a sign that some things will change. Maybe the house cup will also wander over to Gryffindor this year," chimed in McGonagall, while refilling her cup.

"You're welcome to try," Slughorn replied gallantly, "But I'm fairly confident in our Quidditch team."

"Oh, but there's more houses in Hogwarts than yours," Sprout interrupted, "What do you say, Filius, do we let them squabble another year, or sweep them under the rug this time?"

"Well, my students are generally more interested in pursuing academics instead of fighting over glittery trinkets," Flitwick returned, "So I could imagine they will find themselves otherwise occupied."

"So you won't join the betting pool?" asked Sprout, "Pity. But I guess that's Ravenclaw for you."

Flitwick tried to protest, but Sprout had already turned away. "How about you, professor Parker? Want to bet on who's winning the cup this year?"

Harry's smile froze. He knew Syltherin would win. But would this – and in a split second he decided he wouldn't probably endanger his plan of getting rid of Voldemort by joining a betting pool. Rather, he'd help his not-too-good finances.

"Hmm, let me see," he grinned, "Since I didn't study here, I'll have to rely on what I read – I believe Slytherin will win the Quidditch Cup. The House Cup goes to Ravenclaw. Incidentally, Ravenclaw is also going to win the first game of the season."

Slughorn burst out laughing. "It seems we ought to have hired you for divination."

* * *

Tom, Barman at the Leaky Cauldron, glanced up when the door opened, admitting a young man. He turned back to his work almost immediately – the man was not extraordinarily remarkable. Had the light in the pub been better, he might have noticed that the latest arrival was rather handsome.

The man walked up to the bar, sat down next to an older wizard engrossed in the sports section of the Daily Prophet and ordered a butterbeer.

"Mind if I have a look at the paper?" he asked the wizard next to him.

"Go ahead, boy," the other one grumbled, "Keep it, if you want to. There's nothing interesting in there, anyway."

The "boy" nodded. His eyes first thought out the date, and had anybody been watching him, they would have seen a faint smile blossom on his face. With an expression of growing amusement, he scanned the headlines – their Minister of Magic was touring the continent, wizarding communities in the US, Russia and apparently China were seriously discussing how far to embroil themselves in muggle affairs – seeing, as one Russian wizard was quoted – otherwise the muggles may go ahead and bomb themselves out of existence and the wizarding community along with them.

He shook his head. Muggles becoming a threat – apparently the world had not much changed since he had last looked at a paper, then.

Then he discovered an article concerning terrorist attacks and the growing influence of one Lord Voldemort. He raised an eyebrow. The prophet made Voldemort – or You-know-who, as he was referred to far more often – sound like an insane megalomaniac; and he resolved to find another paper.

Maybe the Wizarding Times was still in business?

He paid for his butterbeer, and glanced at the contents of his wallet. There was enough for a while, though should he end up staying longer, looking for a job ought to be one of his priorities. At least for now, he had the contents of Abraxas Malfoy's purse with him.

* * *

James Potter's first day at Hogwarts – or at least, his second first day – went more or less like he remembered. He got far too little sleep, having spent the majority of the night chatting away with Sirius, Peter and Remus, until Remus put down a foot and reminded them of classes. The air of excitement lingered, dispersing any sense of fatigue.

And breakfast was amazing.

Their first class with McGonagall and Ravenclaw went smoothly – though James found his transfiguration did not work at first try. With a frown, he recast the spell and eventually completed his task – not first, but still among the first five students to succeed. McGonagall appeared sufficiently impressed, but James was not – apparently his memories did not give him superior skills.

And, as he noticed in the following lesson on Herbology, the contents of his textbooks were unfamiliar as well. He frowned, until Sirius elbowed him in the ribs.

"Oy, I didn't take you for an overachiever. And you're acting as if you expect to know everything. Chill, we're here to learn, after all," Sirius chimed, while cheerfully doodling away on a margin.

A part of James deeply admired Sirius' carefree attitude – earlier this morning, he'd incinerated two howlers without batting an eyelash. While playing hide and seek with the other members of his extended family, also attending Hogwarts.

The game of hide and seek came to a sort-of conclusion after lunch (approaching the Gryffindor table, apparently, was taboo for Slytherins. James watched Narcissa and Bellatrix watch and lurk for the entire duration. Which in turn inspired Sirius to forget any table manners he may ever have learned – even Lily was frowning). They shared their flying class with Slytherin –

And the ill-omened combination proceeded as predicted. Within the first fifteen minutes Sirius got into an all-out fistfight with Avery – rewarding them with the very first detention of the term. Another quarter of an hour later and a quiet Slytherin names Wilkes (also a Death Eater, James recalled, one who had died in combat) decided to attempt stunt. It may not have been too spectacular, but three broken bones were not be frowned on, and afterwards a number of students – Lily among them – were vowing to never touch a broom again.

"Flying is exhausting, isn't it?" Peter said, while they shuffled down several staircases toward their last class of the day.

James tilted his head. "Not really," he replied. Flying was still the very best thing in the world. And well, comparing it to what he remembered about being married, becoming a parent or the possibility of saving the world (or at least his country) couldn't really be compared, since flying was a different category from those altogether.

"Oh? I find it rather difficult," Peter shrugged, "But well, maybe potions goes a bit easier."

James nodded. The betrayal he recalled rankled – but this Peter had not harmed him yet. He had no reason to be cold – more so since Peter was his roommate, and … he hadn't done anything. So maybe…

All wistful thinking came to an abrupt halt when they entered the dungeon. Due to an irony of fate they had potions after their flying class, also together with Slytherin house. And as expected, Lily and Snape immediately teamed up and proceeded to endear themselves to Slughorn.

With their skill, that was.

"Ugh, what a bore," muttered Sirius, while Snape counted the different uses of unicorn hair. James cast a glance around – most Gryffindor students seemed reluctantly impressed, if a bit bemused at the thin, dark-haired boy (Lily was certainly easier on the eyes). Their Slytherin classmates however eyed the scene with barely-veiled concern: inter-house teams, especially between Gryffindor and Slytherin, were unheard of.

And simply not done.

Which, James suspected, Snape would be informed of, straight after today's lesson.

_tbc_

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_Well, the exposé is done at this point. Feel free to comment ;-)  
_


	3. Casting the Die

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

* * *

**AN: **As I'm currently traveling, updates will be infrequent - and editing may be off. Feel free to point out any oddities you find! :-) I know there's not much action yet, but things will take a nosedive in chapter 4. I'm just setting up the stage.

**Reviews: **A huge thank you for the positive feedback on the first two chapters. Encourages me to continue fast (and makes me feel less awkward, since apparently other people enjoy what my brain cooks up, thus telling me I am not totally insane (yet)). So: THANK YOU!

**Warnings:** None. This is fluffy, if a bit contemplative.

* * *

**3. The die has been cast**

"Knowledge of the future," professor Xylanti said, "is a dangerous thing indeed."

It was James' first class (second time, though) of divination. And professor Xylanti had, in her opening speech, gained his utmost attention at her first sentence. Which was odd, because all James remembered doing during his first year in divination was goofing off with Sirius.

Xylanti had tolerated it, as long as they hadn't disturbed anybody else. And had set some terrible homework tasks (as a matter of fact, James though, looking back, she had probably taught him more about the history of the magical world than Binns ever had).

"Dangerous for what uses it may be put to, and valuable for the very same reason," Xylanti continued, "So, while few are gifted in the art, we all need to familiarize us with it. Lest we oversee the next Cassandra; and essential warnings remain unheard until the world around us collapses."

James shuddered. Thought about a name that was only being whispered. And remembered death and destruction overcoming the wizarding world -

"Foresight has, for a long time, played an important role in history, even if little is known of it," said Xylanti, "There was once an advisor at the Imperial Chinese court who predicted the dynasty's downfall should they go to war. The emperor ruled they would go to war, and to behead the fortune teller. However, the fortune teller was rescued, and while the empire went to war and was defeated, the fortune teller went on to advise the Khan and his successors."

Every single hair on James' back was standing. Was this how to handle his knowledge? Was he to advise one party in the war dawning on the horizon? Would anybody even listen - he had no talent for divination, after all. And next to him, Sirius yawned.

Xylanti smiled at the group of wide-eyed first year students. "This is what makes divination an important subject. And in this class, we'll find out whether you possess any ability to glean insight into what is yet to come."

* * *

Severus Snape had never felt entirely comfortable wearing muggle clothes. He had convinced himself this was due to them feeling weird and exposing compared to wizard robes; however upon entering Hogwarts he had had to discover, he was not feeling as happy as he had expected to. His robes, when compared to other students' were visibly older and felt shabby. Not that he minded, but he had seen older students in his house turn up their noses at him.

His three dorm mates, Rosier, Avery and Wilkes had been cold - until they had come to talk about the muggle world, and by the time Severus had finished his passionate speech on why he hated it, they had all been impressed. In Evan's words: "You're not so bad at all."

And as such he had made his first friends other than Lily Evans.

However, when the first week was barely over, Avery pulled him aside right after their last class of the day - potions.

"Oi, Snape," he said, "Why d'you keep working with that mudblood?"

Severus, at eleven not exactly skilled in politics, merely replied: "She's my friend."

"Well, but she's ... y'know, as muggle as they get," protested Avery, "And she's in Gryffindor. That's as bad as it gets. Why don't you ever work together with, I dunno, Evan or me?"

"Because you suck at potions," replied Wilkes from where he was sprawled out on his bed, "As does Evan, and probably everybody else of us first years. Face it; we have to improve a lot before Sev even considers working with any of us."

"Yes, but my name is not Sev," grumbled the dark-haired boy in question. Avery, meanwhile appeared mostly perplexed.

"But why a mudblood from Gryffindor?" ,he repeated.

Severus cast a glare over his textbook (fifth year potions, fresh from the library). "Because she's just that good." At this, Wilkes nodded enthusiastically.

* * *

On Friday afternoon, James Potter decided to hide in the library. The week had been far too busy to even start thinking about anything but what was at hand. Either there were teachers to pay attention to, or his housemates were entertaining everybody with stories. James was certain he had heard them before - but that had been so long ago, he only faintly remembered some, others not at all.

And that was the problem. While he found he remembered certain events - like setting out to explore the castle, and getting hold up by the caretaker (not Filch; the man was called Augustus Wiston, yet just as grim and unfriendly) on their second night - there were other, utterly new elements present.

Professor Parker, for example. He couldn't remember the man. It may have been a case of having forgotten one of his seven Defense against the Dark Arts teachers - however, he found he recalled all seven of them. And none had been called Parker.

Which implied either, that James' memories were incorrect, Parker was a time traveler or the past had changed far more than he could discern.

James swallowed, and turned another page of his book ("Methusalix' Guide to Plants") without actually having read anything. He had merely used the book to look busy - and he did not want anybody to inquire just what he was doing in the library when the sun was up outside.

As a matter of fact, he would rather be outside himself.

There was nothing really he could do about Parker. He couldn't very well go to a teacher and tell them that Parker did not belong here, because he had not been there in James' memory. And confronting Parker about it had a far too small chances of going right - if he was not a time-traveler, or one with ill intentions, James would either end in Mungo's, or dead.

James turned another page, and reminded himself firmly not to glance out of the window - where the lake glittered invitingly in the sunlight.

Then there was the matter of the Horcruxes. He had not yet put much thought into this - even thinking more deeply about this kind of magic made him feel uncomfortable. And there was no way he would write that word - or anything related down on paper where anybody could look over his shoulder.

The basics were simple enough: figure out which was where, right now. However, some had, as James understood it, not even been made yet. And Voldemort would know the moment one was destroyed. So going after the one at Hogwarts - not yet. And certainly not alone.

But how? He could not claim talent at divination - and how else could he ever convince anybody to believe him? Maybe by putting his memories into a pensieve for inspection by Dumbledore?

Something in his stomach twisted. He honestly did like the old man he had seen in the Great Hall. And he'd gotten along just fine with the Dumbledore he remembered. However, this was the same man who had plotted to sacrifice a child, who had treated all around him, their lives and families as pawns.

James did not feel like trusting him.

* * *

In another place at Hogwarts, another person was also trying to figure something out. Only, their thoughts were much, much darker, more mature and more precise. They had an idea of how to realize their goals.

* * *

Sunday found Lily and Severus seated at the lake, underneath the lake, surrounded by a fortress build from books. They had long since completed their homework and were going through the theory behind their first-year spells (along with popular derivations. Like how in Slytherin Lucius Malfoy had demonstrated how to use Wingardium Leviosa to levitate the couches, tables and armchairs to different locations, after Narcissa had claimed she did not like the set-up. In Gryffindor, several seventh years students had simply levitated first years out of the way - which many first years had enjoyed, until, at some time on Friday night the mood had gotten a little too good, and a very adventurous Sirius had asked to be levitated out of the window).

They were discussing what factors limited levitation spells, and why even Merlin probably could not have levitated a mountain, when Remus joined them.

Severus tried to hide his frown, while Lily cheerfully greeted her housemate. Remus smiled in return. "I saw you doing homework, and since you can't really stay in today, I decided to join you. Have you done charms already?"

"Done," Lily chirped back.

"Oh, do you have any idea what to answer on question four? How do you dye an elephant?" asked Remus, "I looked through our book twice and I did not find anything."

"We thought it was a trick question," said Lily, and gestured at Severus to explain.

"You can't really charm any living thing another color. You can use spells, and some do last a very long time, but color charms generally only work on non-living things," he explained, then turned back to his book.

"Thank you," replied Remus.

By the time Remus had progressed to his potions homework, Severus was slowly beginning to think that there may just be more than one decent human being in Gryffindor house. Then Sirius walked up to them.

* * *

The moment James realized Sirius was headed straight for the tree where Lily, Remus and Snape were sitting, his stomach clenched. This scene had already happened before - it had ended with Snape's books in the water, their owner in tears (it had been a brand new potions book. James, back then, had not understood its meaning), and Lily declaring them all to be rotten to the core.

This was when Snape had earned his awful nickname. He ought to stop it, but his eleven-year old self had little sympathy to spare for the odd kid, that was just telling Sirius he was stupid.

Remus had already raised both hands, trying to calm the rising tempers.

Sirius snorted. "Well I guess you'd have to be clever to make up for being ugly."

Severus jumped to his feet, Lily gaped, Peter's eyes were wide with excitement and James felt like groaning in exasperation.

"At least people will know I got by in my own and did not have to rely on my family to buy my grades," said Severus. Even with his shoulders squared he stood almost a head shorter than Sirius, and was much slimmer.

"No, because everyone knows that Slytherin is all about fairplay and equality," was Sirius reply. Even if he sounded cool, James could see color rising in his cheeks.

Snape clenched his book tighter. "Aren't you being a hypocrite?"

James had to admit, if he had not possessed his memories, he would not have understood the word at eleven years either. Sirius did not.

"You know what," said Sirius, and stepped closer. Severus warily held his ground - but there was only the lake behind him.

"You really should stop reading these books. They make you even more freakish than you already are."

And Sirius tore the new book from Snape's hands and tossed it into the lake, the moment Remus unfroze and shouted "Sirius, no!". The last time this had happened, James had missed how both Liliy and Snape had paled at the work freak. It made only sense in retro perspective - and it was twice as cruel.

He also missed just how fast Snape could wipe out his wand. "Ta.."

James did the only thing he could think of - and pushed Sirius into Snape, effectively sending them both tumbling into the lake together. And pushing the future further off path.

"Sorry," he told them as they surfaced, spluttering, "But you needed to cool down."

Sirius seemed about to protest, so James cast him a look. "Both."

Remus nodded, though he had been visibly surprised at the turn of events. Lily however cast a dark frown at James. He swallowed. This had probably not been the diplomatic solution.

Snape did not even look at him as he struggled to get out of the water. James stretches out a hand to help Sirius, and was thinking that the soaked robes revealed Snape to be not just thin, but frighteningly skinny. He was rather surprised, when Sirius pulled a lot harder than expected.

And then there was water all around James, and coughing, he struggled back to the surface. The water was only knee-deep, but the ground was muddy. And, still dry, Peter was laughing so hard he had to lean against the tree, Remus couldn't help chuckling and even on Lily's face a faint smile took shape. Snape appeared bemused, but not exactly unhappy.

Which was far better than the turn this event had taken the last time.

"The water is nice," said James, glancing up at his laughing audience, "Why don't you come in as well?"

A smirk formed on Sirius face. "Yes, actually, if you want to laugh at us, you have to get wet, too."

And sent a splash into Remus direction.

"Not the books!" shouted Lily and Remus at the same time.

There was blue flash, and instead of water, pieces of eyes dropped harmlessly down on the books, rolled off and began to melt in the grass. James glanced at Snape, just as Lily and Remus did - and he seemed to shrink in on himself at the attention.

"How did you do that?" asked Remus, admiration in his eyes.

"Just something the prefects showed to us," mumbled Snape.

"Well, at least there's something Malfoy is useful for," commented Sirius, "so thanks to him, you can come and join us here without having to worry. Won't you give Remus a push, Peter?"

Peter's attempt to do so failed - Remus was taller and stronger, even though already at eleven Peter was wider around his waist. Lily's tackle attack however took them all by surprise - Remus, James and Snape - as she threw all her weight against Remus. Who stumbled backwards, and was already overbalanced when he caught hold of Lily's robe - and pulled her in after him with a loud splash.

"I'm sorry," were Remus first words after he reemerged, "I didn't mean to, I just..."

But Lily was laughing.

James felt a weight lift from his heart at the sight. Here they were; a scene that should have left all of them in different states of disappointment and anger had them laughing instead - sure, Snape looked weary, and Sirius did not consider this any kind of reconciliation - but nobody was fighting, and those few, precious persons he had cherished the most were laughing, loudly and without a care.

Maybe he could make this work.

James swallowed. But first, they had to change into something dry. There were goose bumps on his arms, and even though there was no cloud in sight on that wide, blue sky, it was September in the north of Scotland.

* * *

Severus returned to the Slyhterin dormitory in a very strange mood. On one hand, the loss of his potion's book - one of the very few new books his mother had bought, had hit hard. He had seen other editions in the school's library, and since he'd already read the entire thing, he was fairly certain he could work with any outdated edition (the potions books of real interest to him were six-year level and up). But still - this painful awareness of not even being able to buy new books was going to follow him into his favorite class, too.

And Black had not even apologized.

Then again, watching him and Potter go bathing had been a fairly rewarding experience. He wouldn't forget about his book in the foreseeable future, but maybe there was no need to confront Black about an apology. Especially since Black did not like him; and neither did Severus like Black.

He whispered the password to the larger serpent, and the door opened.

For once, Severus felt grateful for the dim light the prefects liked to keep in the main room (Slytherin had a brightly lit side room for those who wanted to study) - at least, his water-soaked clothes were not so conspicuous. That was, until one of the seventh-year girls turned to glare at him with dark eyes.

"Slytherin is no place for drowned rats, Snape," she said, "At least dry your clothes before you drag mud all through the common room."

Two of the other girls sitting with her giggled loudly, and Severus felt several disdainful stares aimed his way. He wondered how she knew his name - he did not know hers, though she seemed familiar.

However, another seventh year girl - tall, dark-haired, and infamous even among first year students - Natalia Zabini, rose to her feet, and cast the dark-haired one a look that made water freeze. "Don't be that harsh on our first-years, Bella. I would not be certain if that particular cousin of yours is actually capable of tying his own shoelaces."

While speaking, she more floated than walked over to Severus - who felt frozen to the spot - rested a bony hand in what was supposed to look like a motherly gesture on his shoulder, and cast a drying spell on his clothes. It did actually warm him up, but Severus hardly dared to breathe.

"Sirius is an irregularity - either he gets it, or he won't be family any longer. And Regulus is more than capable of tying his shoes by himself," replied Bella.

"There's a lot of these in your family," said Natalia, with her hand still firmly clasped around Severus' shoulder, "Wasn't it your older sister who eloped with a muggle?"

The other girl stood, white in the face, and whipped out her wand. "Don't you...!"

Then a blonde, who had quietly been sitting next to Bella, put her hand on her arm. "Calm down, Bella. Dromeda made her choice, and so will Sirius at some point."

Severus, meanwhile, had not found a moment to escape his unfortunate position. Instead, his mind was racing. If this black-haired girl was related to Sirius, she probably was Bellatrix Black; and the other blonde was her younger sister, Narcissa. And the ongoing rivalry between the Blacks and the Zabinis had epic proportions - including murder, warfare and marriages (none of these had ever ended well). Which, at the moment, made Severus an unfortunate pawn between two extremely dangerous players.

"Whatever that blockhead decides stopped being of any importance he was sorted into the house of those naive Dumbledore-followers," said Bellatrix, her face still angry, but she out her wand away, "Originally I had only been concerned with the manners of our first years."

Her eyes found Severus', and he shuddered at the hateful glare she directed his way.

"Not everybody has tutors at home," said Natalia - who, incidentally came from a family with a fortune estimate to rival the Malfoy's, "And even if, some spells just don't work at first try."

Then she turned to Severus and bent down a bit. "Repeat the incantation after me, and trace a slow line from down to up with your wand. Shall we give it a try?"

Severus caught, from the corner of his eye, sight of his roommates, watching the disaster with wide eyes. Evan Rosier and William Wilkes looked far too intimidated to help. The prefects were absent, and nobody else had reason to interfere - at least without following their own political agenda.

Natalia soaked one of the rugs on the wall with a careless wave of her wand, and without a word - thus reminding everybody in the vicinity that she was not just heiress to an impressive fortune, but also an eerily skilled witch.

"Give it a try," she said, patting his shoulder.

Severus suppressed a sigh. The spell did seem easy enough, but he had never heard of it before. While a failure may not bring about direct consequences, he realized everybody in the room was watching him. And the young Zabini heiress especially so.

He concentrated, pointed his wand at the carpet, said the spell - and he could feel the flow of magic running through his fingertips. The carpet was dry in less than thirty seconds.

"Good work," said Natalia, and clapped his shoulder. Bellatrix shrugged, and demonstratively turned back to a magazine she had been discussing with her friends earlier. The tension in the room dispersed momentarily. However, instead of letting him go, Natalia turned to cast a curious look at Severus.

"That was very good, actually. Did you just forget to cast it earlier?" she inquired.

Severus forced himself to hold her gaze, while frantically trying to think of an excuse. "I ... Well, I never had a wand before."

She smiled at him. "It does make magic a lot of easier. And if you aren't certain about a spell, the next time just ask."

_tbc_

* * *

_Some more remarks: I am not entirey certain about the people Severus shared his dorm with, nor about their first names. Thus, William Wilkes has a made-up first name, as has Natalia Zabini. Anyhow, please feel free to share your opinion. ^_^_


	4. Opening Moves

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

* * *

**Reviews: **THANK YOU! Thank you for making me feel a little more like a normal, sane person. And thank you for encouraging me to go on with this odd idea. ^_^

**Warnings:** Still none. It does get darker, though.

* * *

**4. Opening Moves**

When Harry Potter prepared to go to sleep on Sunday evening, he was wondering whether he was going to survive the next week. The workload teaching brought with it was higher than expected - and all his attempts at finding the one Horcrux hidden at Hogwarts had been thwarted.

The first time, one Tuesday, it had been two Ravenclaw first years that had lost their way between classes and needed an escort. Then, it had been professor Sprout, who had wanted his opinion on whether or not one of the plants she had recently purchased for her private research had been exposed to dark magic. And the last instance, when professor Parker had finally found an empty corridor and began to concentrate, Peeves had started wrecking havoc one corridor farther down.

That had been on Saturday afternoon. The evening had been the occasion for a teacher-only excursion to Hogsmeade. And after his second firewhisky, drinking with his own former teachers did not feel too strange. Especially since they had never actually taught him.

Then Sprout had ordered something called Merlin on Fire, which sent Slughorn onto a speech comparing the intricacies of mixing said drink to potion making, and had Flitwick, Hagrid and Daedlus (muggle studies teacher, who was only a little older than Harry, and dangerous since he would pick up easily on Harry's lack of knowledge in the muggle world of the seventies) singing.

Professor Xylanti meanwhile told about the two years she had spent on Goa, striving for enlightenment with a wide variety of methods. Muggles had their own kind of mind magic, she added thoughtfully. If only there were no side effects...

And that was only his schedule without meetings, checking homework and preparing lessons.

The very first lesson he had seen his parents in had been far too short. And surprisingly enough, he did not find it difficult to think of them as a teacher would - they were young, and bore little resemblance to the persons he had seen in those precious few pictures.

And even the descriptions appeared off - especially James, who everybody had called lively, seemed at times almost contemplative. Or maybe that had only been one impression; Harry hadn't yet had the opportunity to teach his parents more than once.

On the other hand however, one future Molly Weasley (he really needed to remember her surname) had walked into her first class with him ten minutes late, an unforgiving smile on his face and proceeded to make him forget all about subtracting points (that smile - lips firmly pressed together - usually came with a firm scolding. And apparently some reflexes had a long reach).

Her future husband, meanwhile, had been too busy plotting with his housemates to actually participate in Harry's lesson. And Harry wasn't quite certain if he was looking forward to his essay on the dangers muggles could pose to wizards.

One hour later Harry had seen Lucius Malfoy march into his classroom, accompanied by a flock of future death eaters (and Ravenclaws, but Harry failed to recognize even one of them). Goyle senior came across as bright as his offspring, while Crabbe apparently was one year above them. Malfoy himself was unfailingly polite, and Harry had to grind his teeth - this younger version was worse than the adult one.

Of his future relations, Bellatrix Black failed to show, and Narcissa Black was sticking to a huddle of giggling girls - much like one Rita Skeeter did.

With a loud sigh Harry shook his head. He needed to concentrate on his plan - even if getting to know the childhood-selves of his acquaintances proved far more fascinating. Maybe tomorrow he could head to the Room of Requirement.

And finally start doing what he had come to do.

* * *

It was a rainy Wednesday in late September, when Dumbledore received a quite peculiar visitor. The young man was good-looking, with a shrewd smile and an intelligent gleam in his eyes. He reminded the headmaster of somebody - but it was a memory gone sour, and so he pushed it away and sat down.

"What can I do for you, Mr….?"

The young man smiled. "You could call me Tom, I suppose. How does Tom Teller sound?"

"Not like your real name?" returned Dumbledore. The man seemed harmless enough, and had failed to trigger any alarms until this moment.

"Yes, but that all connects to why I am here," replied the stranger, not even slightly unsettled, "As a matter of fact, I got here by a magical accident involving temporal magic - I hope you understand why I can't really reveal anything concerning my identity."

Dumbledore nodded, and twirled his beard around a finger. "I see."

"As, however, I am currently stranded here, I am in need of means to finance my stay - and as I do hold qualifications to teach – though I am afraid I will be unable to provide references – I thought about inquiring with you."

Dumbledore hummed, intrigued. "Well, what subject can you teach?"

"Defense against the Dark Arts is my specialty. However, I am not unskilled in other subjects, such as Charms," said Tom.

Something in Dumbledore was weary - Tom could tell by the way the older wizard shifted his body. For a moment he wondered, if he had somehow given himself away - but then, there'd be spells flying and not just him sitting quietly, returning Dumbledore's gaze.

"Regrettably, both positions are currently occupied," replied Dumbledore, "As you are however probably not interested in a position at Mungo's - they always need a hand, and don't care that much for references - why don't you inquire with the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry in London?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "It may be a temporal thing, but I am not overly familiar with them?"

"Well, their main job is cataloging and researching magical artifacts and similar subjects - they may also be capable of making sense of whatever happened to you, and even help you return to your own time," said Dumbledore.

The gleam in Tom's eyes increased, and for a moment Dumbledore had to wonder if he should not have given this particular bit of advice. Then again, being lost in a strange time is not an easy thing - and this time traveler appeared interested in playing by the rules.

"That does sound intriguing," said Tom with a smile that within the blink of an eye changed from calculating to harmless, and made Dumbledore uncomfortable, "Thank you very much for your advice. I shall look into the matter."

* * *

The next week was intense - the workload in classes increased, and simultaneously tensions began to rise. Relations between Gryffindor and Slytherin took an abrupt nosedive after the first Quidditch match was announced to take place between those two Houses on the third weekend in October.

Whatever attempts James made to improve relations between Snape and Sirius all ended up a failure - both were too stubborn, and especially Snape did not take very well to losing. Where Sirius was witty, Snape was cruel or arrogant. And while James knew that Snape was merely trying to defend himself, none of the other first years watching, had that kind of knowledge.

His frown must have been obvious, because Lily stopped next to him. "Can't he stop picking on Sev?"

James grimaced. He understood Sirius' behavior related to his problems at home, to how Snape to him was a symbol for what he abhorred - but he also knew that at eleven years he had not realized this. And he couldn't possibly explain this to Lily.

"He just doesn't like him," said James, "He doesn't like anybody from Slytherin, really."

"But that's unfair," replied Lily.

"Well," said Remus who had joined them, "I think that's more because of his family - you know, how they all have been in Slytherin, and seem to have some very strange ideas."

James stiffened. Had Remus originally picked up this early on the political inclination of the ancient and noble House of Black?

Lily turned to him. "How so?"

Remus' expression darkened slightly - James only noticed because he was watching. "Some wizarding families believe muggles, or just generally any other magical beings, are of lesser value."

"That sounds terrible. And Sirius family is one of those?" asked Lily, biting her lower lip.

"You'll have to ask Sirius," replied Remus diplomatically, "I'm just guessing from what he told us."

Meanwhile, more participants joined the quarrel taking place in front of the Charms classroom. Now Sirius was shouting at Rosier, while Matthew Maggon from Gryffindor had drawn his wand and was aiming at Wilkes. Sirius said something, and Snape made to reply, however was shouldered out of the way when Rosier pushed past him and grabbed Sirius by the front of his robe.

They should break this up, James thought. Yet if he stepped forward, he would inevitably become embroiled.

"But Severus' dad is a muggle, too," he heard Lily say to Remus, "Sirius really shouldn't hate him, then."

Remus tilted his head, while James felt the world tilt for a moment. Had Sirius ever known this piece of information? He couldn't recall - but even if they had known, they had probably ignored it.

"How does he get by in Slytherin then?" asked Remus, "From what I hear they pay a lot of attention to what family you come from."

While Lily replied that Snape's mother was a witch, James swallowed. Remus was far more perceptive than any of the other kids around - probably due to being a werewolf he had learned early on how to observe people, and interpret their behaviors. It all made sense in hindsight - and James couldn't help the shudder that ran down his back.

And of course, Remus also had a different understanding of Sirius relations with his family - as much as the adult Remus in James memory had claimed youth and foolishness as an explanation, Remus himself had at eleven years probably seen beyond that.

Meanwhile Rosier was trying to lift Sirius by the collar of his robes, while Sirius wand was pointing straight at Rosier's head. Behind them Snape and Maggon were caught in a stand-off, while Wilkes was on the ground, his nose bleeding.

"What is going on here?" called Professor Flitwick as he entered the corridor and beheld the scene.

Everybody froze.

The short professor frowned unhappily. "Mr. Wilkes, go to the Hospital Wing and have your nose seen to. The rest – would anybody care to explain what caused this?"

The following game of placing the blame, James observed, did as little to improve inter-house relations as did the punishments Flitwick dealt out. Especially not when immediately afterwards students switched seats, so that the class was visibly divided into a Slytherin and a Gryffindor half.

* * *

It was far past curfew when Severus stumbled into Naricssa Black on his way back to the Slytherin dorm. He had been researching a particular potion in the library (a private project Lily had suggested – and he hadn't wanted anybody questioning him on what he was doing) - and staying out of the way of the castle's caretaker was high on his list of priorities.

Thus he had chosen the bare-boned, fifth-floor corridor, which allowed access to a spiral staircase tucked away in one of the turrets, and connected the fourth floor with the dungeon level. Since the however said turret entrance on the fourth floor could only be accessed via Hogwart's main staircase, the stairs had to be tackled from a higher floor – there were bound to be teachers controlling the ground level, however the higher floors were usually clear.

However, as he and Narcissa found, caretaker Augustus Wiston was familiar with this particular route.

They exchanged a quick glance, while behind them heavy footsteps echoed.

"Quick, Wiston is coming!" Narcissa paled, and gave his shoulder a small push.

Severus hesitated, gazing ahead to where the corridor met the main staircase. Luck was not with him tonight.

"The stairs are gone."

"When did that…?" Narcissa bit off a curse, before casting a desperate glance about. They heard the uneven gait draw closer, echoing ominously off the walls.

Severus glanced around – plain walls to their left and right, not even a helpful classroom in sight. A broom closet, and two suits of armor; no escape. And he really didn't want to end up in detention again, so soon after the fight Flitwick had broken up.

Narcissa frowned.

"The closet," she decided, and proceeded to drag him along when he failed to follow.

They stumbled into the small space – luckily, they only had to share it with two old, dusty brooms. Severus barely heard the door click shut behind him, before spying the light of Wiston's lantern through the key hole.

He felt Narcissa stiffen next to him. Both held their breath, while outside Wiston observed the corridor.

"Could've sworn there was some little bugger 'round here," the old caretaker muttered, shaking his head. "Well, whoever it was, they're gone. Let's be off, then."

And with one loud snort the man departed.

Severus sighed in relief. Narcissa tentatively put a hand against the closet's door and tried to push it open. She blinked in surprise, when the wood did not budge.

"It's stuck," she said.

Severus turned his head up sharply – not that he could see anything beyond the small sliver of light falling through the keyhole. Wordlessly, he helped Narcissa push.

The door stayed firmly shut.

"There's probably some locking charm on it," he resumed a moment later.

Narcissa frowned, then drew her wand.

"Alohomora!" she commanded, but the spell failed. Severus watched silently as she went through a number of spells – normal unlocking spells, blasting curses and two incantations that sounded suspiciously like something from an old book on the Dark Arts – however nothing had any effect.

"I give up," she muttered, eventually, leaning back against the wood, "You try."

Severus grimaced. His knowledge hardly measured up to that of a third-year. And that wasn't even including the fact that Narcissa had been brought up in a magical household, while magic at his home could only be used in secret.

Not quite knowing how to proceed, he cast a simple diagnostic charm – one he had taught himself after he received a prank letter that upon opening had drenched him in bright green ink – that would reveal the nature of the enchantments.

The results were not very heartening.

"What does that mean?" Narcissa asked, watching how the air took on a faint purple glow in one place, a turquoise one in another, until the backside of the door seemed fairly alight with different colors.

"The closet is enchanted with quite a number of ancient protective spells. I doubt it was used to store brooms – see the turquoise shade over there? It means that whatever was kept in here was to be completely safe from outside harm – even if the building the closet was in collapsed," said Severus.

"Nice. And how do we get out?" Narcissa asked.

Severus swallowed. "I don't know. I don't think the closet was meant to be opened from the inside, but I have no idea what kind of enchantment was used to achieve that."

"So what you're saying is – we're stuck. Though if, by some odd chance, Hogwarts was to spontaneously combust, collapse or suffer any other kind of damage, we ought to be quite safe from it all. Is that the gist of it?" Narcissa sighed, and leaned back, "Fantastic. And it's one o'clock in the morning. I doubt we'll be out of here anytime soon."

Severus frowned, feeling compelled to find a solution. "Maybe we can cast a spell to contact somebody? Or just call out – even if it's Wiston, he would get us out."

"I'd rather not get caught," Narcissa replied flatly, "And who ought we contact anyway?"

"Maybe one of your friends?" Severus cautiously suggested.

"And end up owing them unspeakable favors?" Narcissa returned immediately, "Rather not. Lucius perhaps might help us out, but it's a bad idea for a prefect to help out rule breakers. Especially when he's the first Slytherin student in some forty years who may have a chance to make Head Boy…"

Severus nodded. "Might there be some other unlocking spells in our school books? I only have my Transfiguration textbook on me, but perhaps…"

"I doubt it," Narcissa snorted, "But feel free to have look at my books. I've got Charms, Potions and Arithmancy on me – hope you don't mind if I make myself comfortable."

Snape nodded. Meanwhile, Narcissa cast lumos, and then transfigured the two brooms into cushions – rough, lumpy cushions, but far more comfortably to lean against than the hard wood. Still, there was not much space in the closet.

"Do you mind if I stretch my legs?"

Severus shook his head, while leafing through the Charms book. It was lucky, Narcissa contemplated, that she got stuck with a tiny first year (she couldn't quite name him, but he did look vaguely familiar) – there were far, far worse possibilities. Being stuck with Bellatrix would have been – as much as she loved her sister – tiresome. Most of the other Slytherin girls were out for the same reason. Then again, she could have been stuck with Granius Goyle – she shivered – there'd be no space for her to breathe, and the door probably would not have closed anyway.

"Are you cold?" the boy inquired, having noted her shivering.

Narcissa shook her head. "No," and then, since she found herself utterly bored, and not in the least tired, "You're one of the first years, aren't you? What is your name?"

"Severus Snape," he replied.

Narcissa tilted her head – the name failed to ring a bell, and the student opposite her looked rather unimposing – pale, dark-haired, dark-eyed, dressed in shabby robes, small and scrawny. He seemed to have read her thoughts, since he added.

"The name won't be in any of the books," he added, "My mother's maiden name was Prince."

That name, however, was familiar to Narcissa, and she nodded. Obviously there was something off about his parents – that would explain his odd appearance; but Slytherin politeness forbade further questions. The dangers of involuntarily unearthing scandals was too great – there were just too many dead bodies hidden in the cellars of old pureblood families. Figuratively and literally.

As Narcissa's father was fond of saying: the longer the history of a family is, the more likely it is to involve some unpleasantness. Usually he continued this argument to point out, that the innate goodness that a lot of the advocates of muggles referred to was merely a result of not having amassed enough history.

"I'm Narcissa Black," she introduced herself, belatedly, though there was probably nobody in Slytherin house, if not the entire school, that did not know who she was.

Severus let his book sink. "You are related to Sirius Black, aren't you?"

There had been interactions, she had heard – ever since the very first week of this school year – between her cousin and students from Slytherin. And only her upbringing enabled Narcissa to suppress a groan. "I'm afraid so. But he hardly reflects my family."

"He made certain to tell me that the moment we met on the train," Severus supplied, and Narcissa rolled her eyes.

"I really have no idea what's wrong with that boy. Aunt Wallburga did her best – and his little brother is absolutely lovely – but Sirius…" She shook her head. Well, her own mother was having a field day. After Andromeda's abrupt departure two years ago, Aunt Walburga had always looked down her nose at them. Having her eldest son betray the family tradition just gave the two families more material to quarrel about.

She looked back at Severus and wondered if he had to suffer through similar family feuds – however judging by the state of his clothes and his general appearance that family might face other problems. Also…

"Oh right, didn't Sirius push you into the lake?" She recalled that lovely afternoon confrontation between Bella and Natalia Zabini – there had been a first year involved, and, as she had later on learned, another member of the Black family.

Severus grimaced. "He threw my book into the lake."

He did not feel it was necessary to mention that James Potter had then pushed him and Sirius in.

"And then you came back and Bella picked on you," concluded Narcissa, chuckling at the irony, "And then you get locked up in this closet with me. Are you certain you aren't a distant relative? Because I don't think any other student at Hogwarts has managed to get connected to all members of my family currently attending."

Judging from the look on Severus' face, he could have done without the connection – which only made Narcissa giggle louder. She did feel silly, but then again it was late at night and she was locked in a closet.

"But my lovely family aside, how do you like Hogwarts?" she asked, when she had managed to calm down.

Severus once again glanced at her over his book. "It's … alright, I suppose."

She was actually surprised at that. Younger students – especially those with a social background similar to hers – were brought up to show either a reaction of "it's wonderful" (that was usually for those sorted into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff), or "it would be wonderful if it wasn't for the biased administration". Whoever had instructed those Slytherins, however, had failed to pay attention to just how odd the terms "biased administration" sounded from eleven-year olds.

Now, Snape fell in neither category. And she thought she recalled him sitting in a corner nursing a bleeding nose earlier this week.

"You're sharing a room with Rosier and Avery, aren't you?" Narcissa inquired.

Severus nodded.

"How is it?"

He hesitated a moment, not quite sure if he was being engaged into a political intrigue, or if Slytherin's queen was merely out for gossip.

"Alright…" he hesitatingly replied, "They appear a bit obsessed with Quidditch."

"Most boys that age are," Narcissa shook her head, "Aren't you?"

"It's interesting. But … I don't think I find it as fascinating as they do."

Narcissa giggled. "Well, I don't care much for it either. Is it because you're afraid of heights? You know, it's supposed to be a secret, but Mulciber – you may know him, tall, blond, fourth year – is terrified. Almost refused to participate in Astronomy. And my sister, Bella, she says spending so long on a broom isn't good for your skin."

She wasn't quite certain why she was talking so much – it was probably the late hour, combined with the receding adrenaline. So within the next two hours she engaged in a surprisingly interesting discussion on skin care with Severus – the boy certainly did not look like somebody who cared about looks, but he had a fantastic grasp on what lotions and elixirs could and would do.

Which was why, by four o'clock, she coerced him to help her on her potion's homework. The boy was bloody brilliant where potions were concerned.

At five o'clock, she had resolved to make him talk more, and consequently found out him very, very reluctant – the shabby robes spoke for themselves. Furthermore he seemed to be utterly wary of Sirius and the Potter heir. In turn, she provided him with a number of amusing and embarrassing anecdotes about Sirius

By six o'clock their roles had switched, and Severus abruptly turned loquacious, going on about potions, ingredients and everything related. In the meantime it was revealed that he had been out because he'd fallen asleep in the library (Narcissa found, to her surprise, that she could not tell if he was lying or not. Those large, dark eyes did not only look utterly innocent, but also concealed everything else).

In turn, she mentioned that she had wanted to pick some moonflowers – without success. Things turned a little embarrassing when Severus wondered what Narcissa wanted a potion that either removed hair or turned people's voices higher by two octaves for. Once that question had been answered, Severus told her moonflowers would not grow in a forest, but on a clearing – and agreed to accompany her the next time.

As seven o'clock rolled around, both eventually began to tire. The first students would be up, and their absence would surely be noted soon.

When Lucius Malfoy, not quite an hour later, found them with the help of a quietly cast point-me spell (rules of Slytherin house had let Narcissa's roommates inquire with Lucius before reporting her absence. Lucius then had taken charge of the affair, and also, first attempted to find a solution without involving any teachers), they were both asleep.

* * *

It was past two in the morning on Friday night when Harry left his rooms. He hoped Dumbledore had gone retired, and that he would not encounter any of the ghosts - he was fairly certain he knew which routes the teachers on patrol tonight would take.

He greeted the sleepy portrait on the corridor with a smile.

"Can't fall asleep," he told the bearded wizard, "Maybe a walk will help."

The portrait nodded, and immediately went back to sleep. Harry smiled to himself - the first part of his cover was perfect. He couldn't allow anybody to wonder just what he was doing, wandering the castle in the middle of the night - or worse, see him retrieving what he set out to find.

He walked past a number of other portraits - all apparently dead asleep - before turning into an empty corridor that led outside (to what was called the professor's courtyard; only being accessible by walking past the wing that housed the staff). His footsteps echoed, before he stopped in front of an empty stretch of wall, closed his eyes and concentrated.

"The place where everything is hidden," he heard in his mind.

Those memories - the battle that had not yet taken place in this world - kept creeping closer to him. Already, his fingers were trembling faintly. If he concentrated, he could still smell the burning wood, fabric and bodies - and see scorch marks and destruction where everything was (yet) intact.

Harry cast the memories aside when the door to the Room of Requirement materialized in front of him.

He had eventually decided to retrieve the diadem first - it was the object easiest to access, and also the one least likely to be noted. Destroying it may have to wait - Voldemort would notice that act - so Harry had concluded that collecting as many Horcruxes as possible before destroying them may just be his best bet.

And while the diadem had rested undisturbed in the Room of Requirement for many years, Harry would rather have it lie somewhere out of public reach. And hope having such a powerful dark object nearby would not disturb his sleep (too much. His rooms were spacious, and he could cast effective shielding charms).

When the wall opened up, he found the room exactly as he remembered. A faint layer of dust covered all surfaces, the light was dim and the air smelled moldy. He had to suppress a cough after inhaling.

Harry glanced around - nothing was different, so he let his feet guide him.

It had been different, with eighteen. Not that he had grown a lot or gained weight, but when he climbed the shaky construction to where the diadem had been hidden, he heard the wood groan and shift under him. Instead of being flexible and light on his feet, he could feel the increased strength in his arms and legs - and where years ago (ahead) recklessness and desperation had driven him, he now tested each step, with a cushioning spell ready on his lips.

When he reached the top, he paused to take a deep breath. Then he took the small box, stirring up a cloud of dust, opened it - and found nothing.

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

The box, where he had found the diadem some twenty-five years in the future, was utterly empty.

He could, however make out the imprint of an object that had been lying in it for a very long time.

James heard raised voices before he actually turned the corner. A small group of student had formed a circle just outside of the great hall – with Sirius and Snape in the middle. Remus was trying in vain to calm Sirius down, while Lily tried the same for Severus. On the other hand, a number of Gryffindor students, as well as Slytherin ones were egging them on.

However, no wands had been drawn yet.

James found his eyes wandering over to Peter – he had dreamt last night; of finding Voldemort on his doorstep, of knowing their secret keeper had failed. The sense of betrayal had kept his stomach rolling – and made him avoid the short Gryffindor. As much as he had sworn to himself to give Peter a chance, because maybe he could change his fate, he just could not stand to be around him sometimes.

Not hating Peter was turning out to be more difficult than not hating Snape.

"Oh, shut up, Black," Severus sneered, "Do the house elves still tie your shoes for you? Or do you have your room mates do it?"

There was a nervous giggle in the room. Peter was opening his mouth as if to say something, but stayed silent.

Sirius blanched, before drawing himself up taller. "Well, mentioning family secrets – did you tell you Slytherin mates about your muggle father yet?"

The room fell dead silent.

James bit his lip – a quick glance to his Slytherin classmates revealed stunned expressions and growing disquiet. Severus paled – Sirius ought not to know, unless somebody told him.

And he hadn't told anybody but …

With growing disbelief Severus' eyes met Lily's. She looked uncomfortable, vaguely surprised – no, she probably did not quite know yet what this tiny morsel of knowledge meant. Severus couldn't hold her gaze – he knew she meant no harm. Probably had shared her knowledge with the best of intentions only.

He needed to get out of here. Without a word, Severus turned on his heel, grabbed his books and stalked from the classroom.

"You got him good," Peter chuckled, and patted Sirius' back, "Who'd ever thought the hat would sort a half-blood into Slytherin?"

"Yeah, though he probably makes up for it in evilness," said Sirius.

Remus bit his lip. And Lily looked shocked – James swallowed, and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Never mind," he muttered, trying to convince himself nothing ill would come of this, "We have Transfiguration next."

* * *

When Severus Snape failed to show up for Potions the next morning, James' stomach clenched.

He managed to overplay the nausea for a moment, smiling brightly for Sirius' and Lily's sake. Then he noticed Remus sniffing the air next to him. The brown-haired boy was growing paler with each second.

"Remus, is something...?"

Then somebody screamed.

_tbc_

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_Please feel free to share your impressions with me. ^_~  
_


	5. Bloodstains

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

* * *

**Reviews: **The amount of feedback has me somewhat speechless. Also, thank you very much for constructive cricism. I'll just use this space to reply - if you'd prefer a reply not here but via reply button, let me know. ^_~

MostLikelyNot: Thank you very much for reading! And here is more, too. :)

MaeSilverpaws1: Thank you for reading. When I started with the concept I wanted to sort of "redo" the past, without utterly undoing it. And while the changes are small yet, they will grow. ^_~

ChangelingbyChoice: Thank you for reading. I hope you will enjoy further chapters, too.

saramagician: Thank you for reading! I hope this update is in time... though the actual explanations may yet have to wait a bit longer. ^^;

Galgalatz: Thank you for reading. And here's to hoping I can keep up with the original spin to this story.

duj: Thank you for reading! Also thank you for pointing out the mistake in timeline - it should get fixed soon. On James: I didn't really like him in the novels, but he's supposed to be a sort-of-good character later on. And as I really do like scenarious where Gryffindor and Slytherin make peace, I wanted to try and develope one where impacts and knowledge steer change them to allow for it. (If that works out remains to be seen ^^;)

revengerufus: Thank you for reading. And... uhm, yes. ;-)

Onaleia: Thank you for reading! And thank you for the clue - I'll see I get the confusions fixed.

Zireael07: Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy the next chapter, too.

SpencerReid: Thank you for reading. And here is ... part of the answer. ;-)

Thank you all again for being awesome!

**Warnings:** Blood. And this is a little shorter, but it felt like a good place to stop.

* * *

**5. Bloodstains**

"Stay here!" cracked Slughorn's voice through the room, the moment the first chair clattered to the ground.

Everybody froze, on the brink of panic.

For a man usually so slow and tranquil, James found Slughorn suddenly moved fast. He was already at the door, when James rose from his seat.

Outside, the scream had stopped.

"Stay inside," Slughorn repeated before opening the door – just wide enough to let himself pass, but it was wide enough for James to catch a glimpse.

There was blood splattered on the ground outside, glinting ominously in the dim light of the corridor. And, emerging from black robes that seemed to melt together with the blood, was one white, unmoving hand. Smaller than an adult's, slim and with long fingers.

It could be anyone's.

And James found himself praying to all gods known to him that it wasn't Snape's. But the churning of his stomach, and the nagging voice in the back of his head told him otherwise.

Drawing a deep breath, he turned to glance at Sirius. The taller boy was pale and wide-eyed; he, too, had seen that hand. On James' other side, Remus was the only one not to have stood – instead he was hunched over in his seat, his face pressed into his hands.

The smell of blood was probably upsetting him, thought James. And then he wondered if Remus could tell who it was by smell.

There were raised voices outside – incomprehensible, even though the inside of the classroom was silent like a graveyard. He could hear Peter drawing a shaky breath behind him, and Sirius grinding his teeth. On the other side of the room, Wilkes and Rosier were stark white – they too probably had a good guess whose blood was spreading across the stone floor out there.

A faint gasp drew his gaze to Lily. She was clutching her books, the grip white-knuckled, and when her eyes met his, there was a silent plea to say that this was not what they all were thinking. That this was not payback for the little detail Sirius had revealed to the world the day before.

* * *

Harry had been teaching his third year Ravenclaw and Gryffindor class (they were covering basic shielding spells), when there was a short knock at the door, followed by the entry of Professor McGonagall. She looked pale and grim and already Harry knew something had happened.

"Professor Parker," she said, her voice even, "I apologize for interrupting, however your expertise may be needed."

Harry caught the subtle gesture to come closer, and the moment he joined her, a privacy charm was cast.

"A student has been attacked, and one of the curses remains yet unidentified – Madame Pomfrey would like you to come to the Hospital Wing and see if you recognize it," McGonagall gazed over to the students who were watching the two of them attentively, "I will cover your class, and see to it that the students return to their common rooms afterwards. Classes will be cancelled for today; instead we will be having an emergency meeting at twelve. Everything else will be decided then."

Harry swallowed, and nodded. His mind jumped into overdrive – first the missing Horcrux, now an incident he had never heard about – and only barely managed to assign a reading task to his class for the remaining time. Then he was out of the door, his fingers clenching around the wand in the pocket of his robe.

_What on earth is happening_, he thought to himself, _this doesn't make any sense._

Something was happening; something that nobody had ever told him about. That had not made it into any history book, nor had Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore or anybody ever told him about it. Maybe it had just not been important enough…

Or maybe something else was going on.

A cold shudder ran down Harry's spine, he fastened his pace and made it to the Hospital Wing in record time.

* * *

James glanced up in surprise when the door to the dungeon opened once again. However, instead of Slughorn, it was Xylanti who did walk in. His stomach dropped further.

Xylanti walked up to the front of the class in absolute silence.

"Due to an incident, Professor Slughorn will not be able to return for this lesson," she said, "He has, however, left instructions with me to have you read the chapter introducing the usage of Mandrake Root in potion brewing – beginning from page thirty in your books, I believe."

Silence answered her words.

"Please begin," said Xylanti, and sat, heavily, behind the large desk.

It was Wilkes who raised his hand. "Professor, can you tell us what happened?"

James bit his lip, and next to him Sirius' fist clenched. Tension peaked this moment, and Xylanti did notice, even though she did not react.

"The headmaster will give an explanation during lunch, or slightly later, I expect," was her only answer.

James pressed his lips together in frustration.

* * *

The scene that met Harry in the infirmary was one of highly-organized chaos. Curtains had been drawn up, and the entire back section of the hospital wing was warded-off – yet the few students resting in the Hospital Wing were exposed to a parade of harried professors, incessant mumblings and a still visible trail of blood.

Harry swallowed, and almost was run over by Professor Sprout who was promising to look if she had any blooming Snowgras in her gardens, though she did not believe so. When he passed the thin curtains, the level of noise increased – a sound barrier spell must have been in place.

Dumbledore was standing in a corner, in deep conversation with Flitwick and Slughorn; the headmaster's expression grim, while Slughorn had sweat shining on his forehead and Flitwick kept gesturing toward the window.

Near the bed, Madame Pomfrey – looking a lot of younger than Harry remembered – was bent over a motionless figure. Blood was on the bed, on her clothes, and while Harry could not yet see who the student was, he could make out a green trim on their robes. Which was only faintly visible, having turned brown by blood in other places.

"Professor," said Madame Pomfrey, straightening up, "Could you come over here for a minute?"

He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything.

"There's been a lot of damage – at least one Unforgiveable, I'd say, but what worries me is that one spell seems to have caused a number of deep cuts. I can get them to stop bleeding with a normal _finite incantatem_, but they tend to reopen after a while and I haven't yet figured out how to heal them in the meantime. Maybe you have an idea?" While she was saying this, she was already waving her wand over the unconscious student, gazing over the results.

Her voice was deadly calm, and Harry found himself holding his breath – he had seen her cover dead bodies before, and seeing the same collected expression on her face now made something in his chest twist painfully.

"I need to see if we have more blood-replenishing potion," muttered Pomfrey, "I'll be with you in a moment."

With that she turned on her heel and hurried off toward her office, leaving Harry alone. He cast one more look at the other professors present – though all three were too involved in their discussion to have even acknowledged his presence. Then he approached the occupied bed.

He had drawn his wand, the first of the diagnostic spells to check for dark magic on his lips, when he faltered.

The student attacked had not been anyone – it was Severus Snape.

* * *

Once the lesson was over, Xylanti informed James and his classmates that all students were to return to their common rooms until lunch – the Heads of their Houses would come by to pick them up then. Sirius tried to crack a joke about missing the next class, but neither Remus nor James felt like laughing, and Peter only managed a nervous giggle.

While he was stowing away his potion's textbook, he noticed Lily walk up to the desk Rosier and Wilkes shared.

"Excuse me," she said, shakily, and instantly drawing the attention of all Slytherin students in the vicinity. Rosier's lips curled in distaste, though he looked up, as did Wilkes. James unconsciously held his breath.

"I was wondering, you are Severus' dorm mates, aren't you? Do you know if he's sick or something?" She sounded desperate – and her face was still chalk white.

"What do you even…" started Rosier, and Sirius sharply pushed back his chair, some girls began giggling, however Wilkes only shook his head.

"No, he's always up early to get to the library," said Wilkes, ignoring Rosier's half-hearted outburst, "He's usually gone by the time I wake up, and today was the same, so I doubt he's sick."

"Maybe he just fell asleep in the library," muttered another Slytherin student, and there was some nervous agreement – the few giggles shaky and quickly aborted.

"Maybe," agreed Rosier flatly.

Lily pressed her lips together – James could tell she had hoped for another answer. If Snape was sick, at least he wouldn't have possibly been the student dead or injured in the corridor.

"Thank you," she muttered. Rosier snorted, though Wilkes nodded after her – and James felt his head start to spin. Knowing those two would become merciless Death Eaters in the future made it difficult to like them – and seeing them, just as pale and nervous as everyone else, and seeing just how much of a pretense Rosier's disgust was at this point, made hating them just as complicated.

"Maybe a book ate him," suggested Sirius as they were leaving the room.

"Can books do that?" asked Peter.

"A few," replied Sirius.

"Though I doubt they'll be in the library at Hogwarts," added Remus with a forced smile.

"Yeah, that'd be far too dangerous," said Peter. James felt his gaze drift over the stone floor, and the ancient dungeon walls. The blood had been cleaned away, as had all other reminders of what had happened. Only one section of the wall seemed odd – it did not look different from the rest, but something about it was off.

* * *

Somewhere else at Hogwarts, one person was rather contently storing their spare wand away in a safe place. Today's plan had worked better than expected – even though they had been a bit uncertain just how to make sure their message was being understood.

In the end, maybe their actions spoke for themselves. They had always been more interested in action than in words, anyway.

And they still needed to see how the world in general was going to react. After that they'd continue their work – with maybe some adjustments.

* * *

"What if someone really attacked Sev' because I told Sirius about his father," James heard Lily say to a black-haired first year in their common room. The mood was bleak – most of the first year students clustered around the large fireplace. A few students from other years kept close – they had heard that the first year Potion's class had been closest to whatever had happened. But there was no information to be shared. Not even rumors.

Most had sat at the tables, and kept busy with homework or board games – the majority however had retreated to their dormitories. James was squeezed between Sirius and Remus; with Peter on Sirius' other side, and Lily next to Remus.

Which was how he heard the conversation, even though Lily and her friend were speaking in hushed voices.

The other girl shuddered. "That's horrible. I mean, who'd attack you just for who your parents are? If there's persons like that here, then nobody's safe."

Lily nodded, though she still appeared more worried about her role in the entire fiasco. James wondered what to say – he couldn't very well reassure them that prejudice against muggleborn witches and wizards was inexistent in the wizarding world. Especially when he remembered that the black-haired girl was going to die in their third year, when Death Eaters would attack her family on vacation.

"Yes, but I mean I told…" said Lily, when Sirius stepped past James.

"Yeah, and I told them," said Sirius with a shrug, "But to be honest, that's all a problem of Slytherin. They're the only ones being assholes about the entire pureblood stuff. Nobody else really cares – so if it's anyone's fault, it's theirs for being bastards."

"Exactly," said Peter, and cast a shy smile at the girls, "Also, we don't really know yet who was out there. Maybe it was all an accident?"

He didn't believe it himself – everybody could tell, but the attempt at least made the black-haired girl nod, and Lily looked at Sirius for the first time with something else than exasperation, annoyance or disgust. James, however looked over to Remus.

Who, at Peter's words, appeared utterly torn. At that moment James knew that they were conjuring up illusions. It had been Snape out there. Either dead or grievously injured.

And that had never happened in his memories.

* * *

There was a cut on Snape's forehead that started to bleed anew as Harry's mind grew blank for a second. He stared at the face of the student that had been his teacher in the future, trying to understand – but this could not be happening.

It had never happened. Nobody had ever told him about this incident, so how …

He saw the bright red liquid trail down the side of Snape's face and drew in a sharp breath. Whether it had happened or not, now was not the time to think about that question – he had been asked here to help, had come to help, and so he bit down on his lip and stepped closer.

Pomfrey had cut away most of the robe, leaving a clear view of Snape's bony torso. She had already bandaged a number of bruises and cuts – Harry saw vestiges of familiar healing lotions, and swelling around Snape's ribs and hands indicated that broken bones had been set here. The damage done looked extensive, Snape clearly underweight, and for a moment Harry felt that nauseous.

Then he quenched it, told himself to look at the untreated wounds and not think about who he was treating.

Pomfrey had already identified the curse-inflicted injuries, leaving them open for Harry to examine. However, there was no need for him to cast a diagnostic spell.

He was familiar with the pattern of slash marks left. The way the wounds refused to heal easily, kept breaking open and bleeding anew. This was not the first time he saw the results of that particular curse.

Only, Sectumsempra had yet to be invented.

_tbc_

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_Please feel free to share your impressions with me. :)  
_


	6. Silhouettes

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**Warnings: **A little blood.

* * *

To everybody who read and reviewed: thank you very, very much. Once again, the responses have left me speechless… and very, very happy. A number of you have made some very good guesses, but well, the truth isn't quite on the table yet.

duj: Thank you for reading. To be honest, I don't really feel any sympathy for the Marauders as written in the books, and while I'm unfamiliar with the fragments you mention, they only support this sentiment. Still, I'd like to turn them likeable (and constructive in bringing Voldemort down), so I operate by them being more-or-less non-evil kids in the beginning. And then have them being shaped by events. ^^;

Silver-Moon-Light94: Thank you for reading. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, too.

flyingincolour: Thank you for reading. Poor Snape, indeed (and well, the road ahead is not looking better. )

Galgalatz: Thank you for reading. A good guess… but then again, I am guilty of misdirection, so you're right about the details. There's quite some facts not revealed yet.

Saramagician: Thank you for reading. And while the other player is not going to be revealed yet, I still hope you enjoy the next chapter. ^^

Zireael07: Thank you for reading. And well, your guess is half-right. The other half will be revealed soon.

Siren Called: Thank you for reading. Hope you will enjoy future chapters, too.

SpiritFirefly: Thank you for reading. Hope you'll enjoy the next chapter, too.

MaeSilverpaws1: Thank you for reading. You picked up quite some important details, there – especially that, with everybody eleven or a little older, they're bound to react differently (and are more impressionable, too).

MostLikelyNot: Thank you for reading. I do have a fondness for cliffhangers, but I believe this chapter shouldn't be too bad.

**AN:** Since November is going to be insanely busy, the next update may only happen after Dec 15th. I apologize, and keep my fingers crossed I'll get a chapter done before that. ^^;

* * *

**6. Silhouettes**

In hindsight, it was fairly lucky Madame Pomfrey was not present, and all the other staff members too engrossed in their own conversations to take notice of Professor Parker's reaction. Harry felt himself pale - and he couldn't quite subdue the sharp intake of air.

Then he steeled himself, while his head went into overdrive. _This is bad, this is bad, thisisbad_.

He swallowed. Now was not the time to panic.

Only, a Horcrux had disappeared from a place where it ought to rest undisturbed for at least another twenty years, and somebody had cursed Snape with a spell he hadn't even invented yet.

At this point even Hermione would have had to admit things were not going well.

Harry saw another cut on Snape's thin torso break open - and his labored breathing faltered momentarily. His skin was deathly white from blood loss already, and Harry realized that Snape could very well die.

Which would completely destroy the future Harry had come from.

He stepped forward, raised his wand and began casting the counter curse. It took precious moments until it worked, but then Harry saw the bright red cuts heal. The relief he felt however paled before what was going on in his mind.

There was no proof that the attack on Snape and the Horcrux' disappearance were connected, but Harry had a hard time envisioning a scenario that would allow for both events to occur unrelated to each other. Especially, since Sectumsempra had been Snape's own invention years in the future.

If Harry was right, then whoever had committed these acts had ample knowledge of the future. Or rather: the same as Harry, and maybe even more. And a diametrically opposed agenda.

It was fortunate he could stop casting the counter curse by now – the large gashes on Snape's torso had healed, though the skin remained bruised and discolored – and Harry's hands were shaking, hidden in the pockets of his robe.

"Oh, I see you could do something," said Madame Pomfrey, who suddenly appeared behind him, "That's great, because with all the spells I have a hard time figuring out just what to apply anyway."

Harry nodded in reply, not trusting his voice.

"Anything else I need to watch out for?" asked the nurse, her own wand already drawn.

Harry shook his head, and then Slughorn stepped up next to him, followed by Dumbledore.

"How is he, Poppy?" asked the headmaster. At his side, Slughorn was worrying his lip.

"Unless any unforeseen side effects occur, he should make it," was Madame Pomfrey's short reply. A wave of her wand revealed a number of glowing symbols in the air.

Harry glanced back at Snape's motionless figure. _Make it?_ echoed his mind – he had seen a lot of blood, and the injuries were severe, but he hadn't quite thought about Snape dying here.

He hadn't at all contemplated the possibility. Because Snape had lived in the future Harry had come from – so his survival appeared a given.

But he had come to vanquish Voldemort too. Meaning to kill a person that had been alive in the very same future. If he wanted Voldemort to die earlier, then who was to say that no one else had to be spared from the same fate? Especially since this attack had the appearance to be the work of another time-traveler.

And this eleven-year old, beanpole-thin Snape looked far too fragile and far too easy to kill.

* * *

In Gryffindor tower James had sought refuge in his dormitory. The never-ending string of rumors, speculation and barely-subdued hysteria had sent his own mind into overdrive, and eventually he had taken his homework and marched upstairs, fully intending to hide behind the curtains on his bed. Instead, Remus had followed first, worriedly inquiring about his feelings. And then Sirius and Peter had joined in.

James hoped Lily had retreated to her dormitory, too. The rumors couldn't do any good, and she had looked about to cry when he had left. And she didn't even know yet the victim really had been Snape.

He felt like gnawing at his Potion's textbook in frustration.

"Oi, everything alright with you?" asked Sirius. A side glance revealed to James that Sirius had written an entire sentence of his Transfiguration essay within the last twenty minutes. Which was definitely more progress than Remus' three crossed-out attempts. Or Peter, who had been staring at the same page of his magical history textbook in the same time.

They may not have been academically brilliant in James' memory, but he certainly didn't recall homework being this dreary.

"Yeah, just thinking," he said belatedly.

Remus sighed. "I guess we're all distracted."

"Do you think they really attacked Snape because his father is a muggle?" asked Peter, and James' stomach twisted violently. He had to swallow down the bile rising in his throat – this wide-eyed, innocently asking Peter was the same one who had, in the future, betrayed them all to Voldemort.

Brought about their deaths.

How…

He felt utterly dizzy.

"Sure," said Sirius at the same time Remus said: "We don't know if it even was Snape who has been attacked."

Both exchanged a glance, and Remus gestured for Sirius to continue.

"Well, Remus is right. We don't really know what's the case, so we'll have to wait and see what they tell us later. But I wouldn't be surprised if it was some Slytherins that attacked Snape for being half-muggle. I mean, they're sick like that," Sirius shrugged.

Remus frowned slightly. "Probably not all of them."

"At least everybody my mother knows. And all their children are in Slytherin, so if there's exceptions, well, I don't think they'd last," and with that Sirius turned back to his essay.

James swallowed. And other exceptions would conceal themselves, until they forgot about being different themselves for the longest time. Until this consciousness would resurface only when it was far too late, the damage done, and death the sole remaining option. Regulus Black and Severus Snape were the ones he knew about – what, if there had been others? Exceptions they had missed?

Because hadn't they helped turning all those Slytherin students into Death Eaters themselves? By dividing the school, by projecting expectations and stereotypes, and this way eliminating any chances of survival for those Slytherin students that did not side with Voldemort?

He set down his pencil – there was no way he could finish homework while his head was caught in a tornado.

* * *

The air was tense when Harry entered the teachers' lounge an hour before lunchtime. Most professors had gathered in small groups, and nervous chatter echoed within the room. His arrival drew a few curious glances, yet nobody approached him.

He made a beeline for one of the overstuffed armchairs in the corner, helping himself to a mug of tea along the way. Only when he had sat down, he allowed his thoughts to run.

"So, are we closing down the school?" asked Sprout, her face grim.

Dumbledore frowned at her. "At this time it would seem a bit hasty, wouldn't it? We barely know what actually occurred."

"A student was almost fatally attacked. And as long as we don't know who or what was behind it, all students are in danger - I don't think the governors would like us playing business as usual at this time," said Xylanti from her seat in another corner.

They certainly wouldn't, though Harry.

"And we won't if we have reason to assume a potential murder is running around Hogwarts," said McGonagall, "However, according to our knowledge, no strangers were on the grounds within the last four days."

Behind her, Dumbledore scanned the assembled teachers intently.

"There were no strangers," added Hagrid in a choked voice, "They don't get past the gates without anyone noticing."

"Could somebody have slipped past? Under Polyjuice perhaps? " asked Slughorn.

"Unlikely, but not entirely impossible," replied Flitwick, "The wards around the gates react to an individual's magical signature. Which makes them difficult to trick, but it can be done."

Slughorn nodded, as did all the other professors.

"Baring a stranger hiding within the castle, suspicion would fall on the staff, I do believe", said Xylanti in a flat voice, "From what I heard the spells cast require a level of control and knowledge that would exclude most students. Thought maybe Madame Pomfrey could tell us a little more here?"

"Naturally," said the nurse calmly, "I found traces of the second unforgivable, a number of the more common spells used to cause harm or inflict pain. A notable residue of dark magic was among them. And there was another, very harmful spell I could not identify. Luckily Professor Parker was familiar enough to heal it as well, since said spell might have been fatal."

Harry found all gazed directed at him, and forced his hands to relax their grip on his teacup. "The spell is known as Sectumsempra - if I am correct, it is a new invention. And I don't know too much about it, actually, I only saw it demonstrated once."

In the meantime he had come up with a plausible story concerning where he had seen the spell cast, but to his relief nobody asked. Instead McGonagall spoke up again: "All of this does point at a rather sophisticated degree of magic. If the attacker would have been a student, they would have to be at least in their sixth year or further."

"What about the staff?" asked Xylanti.

"Everybody but the Headmaster, Hagrid, Professor Sprout and Mr. Wiston was in class," replied McGonagall.

Suspecting any of those four was neigh impossible. And Harry could tell none of them had done it – this was the work of somebody with extra knowledge. So either there was another individual hiding, or there was an imposter.

Or it had been indeed a student.

Slughorn cleared his throat. "I took the opportunity to question Mr. Snape's dorm mates. According to them there is a bit of rivalry going on between them and group of first year students from Gryffindor. But I'd agree with Minerva's assessment that the attacker could not have been a younger student."

"Did he see something?" asked Sprout.

"Mr. Snape is still unconscious," said Madame Pomfrey, "And due to the Unforgiveable used, there is no telling in what condition he'll be upon waking. Or if he actually did see something."

Silence descended heavily, while Harry imagined attending Hogwarts without Snape. He probably wouldn't have survived his first year… A cold shudder ran down his back. Ironic, how the past had appeared set in stone – only to turn out incredibly fragile.

"Maybe there is another line of inquiry onto this," said Dumbledore after a moment. His voice was oddly grave, and Harry instinctively looked up. "Some of you may be familiar with right-wing, ultraconservative movement? Or the Death Eaters?"

There were nods, and Harry caught a number of his colleagues pale.

"The ideals of this group, as far as I understand, extend to a zero-tolerance policy concerning muggles in the wizarding world. I apologize, Horace, but according to my understanding the movement does recruit itself majorly from Slytherin house, where similar moral issues have caused problems in the past," Dumbledore pursed his lips, while Slughorn nodded, obviously quite unhappy.

For a moment Harry wondered just how Slughorn, who was so keen to surround himself with the powerful and influential, had not gotten involved with the Death Eaters. Then Dumbledore continued.

"Mr. Snape's father is a muggle, a fact that I believe has been revealed to his housemates not too long ago. It does pain me, but the attacker may in fact be a student in this case."

"That's disgusting," muttered Xylanti.

"I'll look into it," said Slughorn, "I know some of the older students have been going on about this kind of political propaganda lately. There's a good chance this helps them open their eyes, anyway."

"I'll also inquire with my older students," added Flitwick, "It's not as if haven't been any Death Eaters in Ravenclaw."

"Me too," said Sprout. Only McGonagall remained silent – and as far as Harry knew, Peter Pettigrew aside, there had been no Death Eaters in Gryffindor.

Or had there?

"Very well," said Dumbledore, "Regretful as it is, seeing as the attacker was probably a student, we won't close down the school, and I'd suggest resuming lessons tomorrow."

"And what do we tell the parents, Albus? Or the press?" asked Flitwick with a prominent frown on his face. Harry had to agree in silence – as likely as the explanation sounded, they hadn't eliminated other possibilities.

"An altercation between students that unfortunately ended in serious injury," replied Dumbledore, who apparently wanted to close the meeting.

Harry bit his lip. He hadn't wanted to draw any attention to himself, but if they had indeed a time-traveler running around, he couldn't just sit still. "Are we going to introduce further security measures? I mean, even if it is a student – and we haven't quite disproven the other possibilities – they are obviously willing to do serious harm. Shouldn't we aim to protect the students from them?"

Dumbledore cast him a long look over his glasses. Harry concentrated on the wall of his cupboard under the stairs – he had spent so much time staring at it, summoning the image was no trouble, and it effectively blocked out all other thoughts.

"There was a piece of evidence left behind that suggests the attacker targeted Mr. Snape. As such I doubt they will harm other students," said Dumbledore, and held up a hand, warding of inquiries, "Concerning further security measures, I would suggest to make certain all students only move about in groups."

And then Dumbledore closed the meeting, reminding everybody to gather again on Friday night to report their findings. Harry followed his colleagues out, wondering just what the evidence Dumbledore had mentioned was.

And whether the attacker was a time-traveler or a senior student with a serious grudge against half-bloods.

* * *

After a very subdued lunch, Lily had announced her intention to visit Snape in the hospital wing. Her dorm mates were not taken with the idea, so James offered to accompany her. He was rather surprised when Remus offered to go too – because "they'd somehow been involved with bringing this about".

The reproachful gaze however was directed at Sirius, who had thrown up his hands, and announced he'd go to, because after all he could apologize like a man. And where James, Remus and Sirius went, Peter did follow.

They arrived at the entrance to the hospital wing at about the same time Snape's dorm mates from Slytherin did. Both groups eyed each other suspiciously, before Rosier stepped forward, attempting to open the door to the hospital wing.

It didn't budge; instead Madame Pomfrey's harried voice called out: "What do you want?"

"We'd like to visit Severus Snape," said Rosier, and Lily nodded.

"Wait a moment," came Pomfrey's reply, and their odd group was left to themselves in the corridor. Instead of relaxing, tensions grew. Sirius glared at the Slytherins, and Avery and Rosier glared back. Wilkes was staring at the wall, and Lily kept worrying her lower lip.

"So, are you here to finish the job?" asked Sirius eventually, among sharp gasps from Remus and Lily.

Wilkes paled, but Rosier stepped forward. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? You're the one out of all of us who's most likely to kill him, and wouldn't you just love pinning the blame on us?"

James saw Sirius grip his wand in the pocket of his robe, while Avery stepped up next to Rosier, ready to back him up.

"Me?" sputtered Sirius, "I think you're talking about yourself. Which house is the one so crazy about blood purity? Not Gryffindor the last time I checked."

"That's rich, coming from you, Black," said Rosier, with red spots growing on his cheeks.

"Yeah, especially you. What is your family motto again? Toujours pur, wasn't it?" asked Avery, "So how do we know it wasn't you going around picking off Slytherins just because you feel so high and mighty in Gryffindor colors?"

Remus stepped forward, raising both hands. "Uhm, I don't think us quarrelling is going to help. Maybe we should…"

"Calm down," finished Wilkes, walking right between Sirius and Rosier, "Lupin here is right. We're not helping. As a matter of fact, we may just be doing what that attacker wants. Before we start accusing each other, we should consider different motives."

"But isn't blood purity the thing in Slytherin house?" asked Peter, "It's what everybody tells me."

Lily had grown pale and paler, so James stepped next to her, intentionally bumping her shoulder.

"Well…" at this Rosier appeared rather put-upon. It was Wilkes who answered: "It's like a fashion, so yes, you'll hear a lot of people bragging about how they're related to Rowena Ravenclaw or whoever, but in the end, attacking fellow students because of who their parents are – that is not normal."

Sirius looked about to protest, but kept silent on Remus' glare. James' eyebrows rose – Wilkes had joined the Death Eaters together with the rest of his house. To hear him call the movement's ideology a fashion…

"Whoever did this," Rosier added, quietly, "Is a danger to everyone around."

"Indeed," a new voice chimed in, and James whirled around to find Lucius Malfoy regally walking up to their group, accompanied by pale-faced Narcissa Black, "Especially as there is no way of knowing who is going to be targeted next."

For a moment James wondered what Malfoy was doing here. According to his memories the blond had not become friends with Snape that fast – then he caught sight of the prefects badge on Malfoy's robe. Of course, as a Slytherin prefect he could do worse than visit an injured house mate on a free afternoon.

"How is Severus? Do you know?" asked Narcissa.

"We're still waiting to be let in," replied Rosier, and she nodded. Sirius glared at her, but to Narcissa Sirius may as well have not been present.

Naturally, Sirius couldn't leave the situation alone. "And what brings you here, dearest cousin?"

Narcissa coolly raised an eyebrow. "I could ask the same of you. As far as I know you already sent Severus to the hospital wing once? I hope this wasn't your doing, too."

Sirius' glare intensified, though he couldn't quite hide the flinch. "I'm not the one killing people because of who their parents are."

"And I told you we don't do that either," said Rosier.

"Do you think he's dead?" blurted out Peter.

As horrifying the thought was, James was glad he'd chosen this moment to look up. Because he could see everyone present blanch. Sirius, Lily, Narcissa, Rosier, Wilkes, Peter and Malfoy – they all went a shade whiter.

And behind the churning of his stomach, James thought that it was amazing how personal loyalty overrode political determination at this point. If only it could last…

Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat, interrupting the suffocating silence: "I do believe we would have been informed if that was the case. However, I wish the school administration would give us more information in general – we still don't know if this hasn't been an accident, after all."

"Maybe it's some mad Gryffindor out to kill all Slytherins," Avery blurted out in abject horror, "You know, kill the children and let the old die out. It's the rule of…"

"Oi, watch what you're saying, snake!" shouted Sirius, "Are you sure it wasn't one of your own out to kill Snape? To, you know, keep the house clean?"

"Slytherins stick together!" declared Rosier.

James pressed his lips together. "And Gryffindors don't attack people from behind."

"Yeah, sure," Rosier nodded arrogantly, obviously recalling the same encounter James did, "You obviously are a shining example of said Gryffindor trait, Black."

"There's a difference!" Sirius returned just as heatedly, and James found himself agreeing. They had been playing a prank, not attempting to kill anybody.

"Not that you'd know it, Rosie," added Sirius and raised his chin.

"Don't call me Ro-!" Rosier's scream was cut off by Lucius laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's not fight at this time," the fifth year student suggested, "As I was saying, we know far too little to make assumptions. So maybe for the time being we should just…"

"It wasn't an accident," said Wilkes abruptly. He had been staring into space for a while now, James thought.

"I don't know if you noticed, but there was an illusion cast over part of the wall when we left the dungeon," continued Wilkes, addressing in equal parts his Slytherin and Gryffindor classmates, "I can see through them – they'd used blood to write there; the word was _traitor_."

"So it was somebody from Slytherin!" exclaimed Sirius, while Lily leaned back against the wall, pressing a hand in front her mouth. When Sirius cast a glance at his friends – all pale, shocked – he found the glee vanishing into thin air.

"If so, it was somebody acting on their own," said Malfoy in a flat voice, "We don't condone this kind of behavior."

"As a matter of …" whatever Wilkes was about to say got interrupted as the door to the hospital wing opened.

Madame Pomfrey walked out, with her usual gentle expression on her face. At least there were no blood stains on her robes, but a certain hardness James had only ever seen in those memories of the future suggested that this was no ordinary day.

"Are all of you here for Mr. Snape?" she asked.

"Yes," said Rosier, "Can we visit?"

The nurse frowned. "Regrettably he is still unconscious, so I'd suggest you come tomorrow."

There was some muttering, but nobody dared to protest.

"How is he?" asked Lily, stark-white.

Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips. "Recovering. Some of the spells did a lot of damage – especially this new invention, Sectumsempra, I believe it is called. If you ever come across it, don't use it… but back to Mr. Snape; bearing surprises, I expect him to make a full recovery."

And while a small smile blossomed on Lily's face, James' felt the ground drop away from under his feet.

Sectumsempra.

Traitor.

This was no overenthusiastic blood purist acting out. There was another time-traveler at Hogwarts. One that did not aim to stop Voldemort.

_tbc_

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_Please feel free to share your impressions and ideas with me. ^^_


	7. Relative Positions in Politics and Time

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**Warnings: **None.

**Reviews**: Once again, thank you. You guys are so awesome, I ended up writing out this chapter even though I didn't expect to be able to this month. [Then again, rl has me currently writing a lot academic stuff, so fiction is a nice break from that.]

I'm going to do individual replies in the next chapter – my apologies here. If there are any pressing questions, feel free to pm me. On that note, concerning potential couplings in this fic: not for several chapters. And then, I'd prefer to focus on general relationships rather than romantic ones. Thus, no couples for the time being; after that I haven't quite decided on how much I will stick to canon.

* * *

**7. Relative Positions in Politics and Time**

James retreated to the Room of Requirement at the first possible opportunity. He was too upset to console Lily, calm Sirius or see to a denouement of the swelling Slytherin-Gryffindor conflict. The ground felt shaky, as if the very reality was threatening to shatter.

And in a way it was: the pace he remembered was unraveling, piece by piece. While he still hadn't really figured out a plan, until now he had been taking it on a day by day basis. He had thought it might be enough.

Perhaps it wasn't.

Especially if there were others around that had the same knowledge he did.

He took a deep breath and dropped into an armchair. The room was bare safe for comfortable furniture, a tea set with cookies and a large painting of the Scottish Highlands opposite of the chairs. Nothing moved on the painting, and for that James was grateful – too many things were in motion in his head already.

Traitor. Sectumsempra.

The attack on Snape had not happened due to his parentage. If James guessed right, and no insane blood-purist had accidentally invented the same spell Snape had in the future right now, then the word traitor did not much refer to his muggle father either, but to Snape's spying activities for the Order. And his role in bringing down Voldemort.

Which meant the attacker was not an insane blood-purist. But somebody very dangerous. With knowledge of the future.

James hid his face in his hands. This was turning into a disaster. Even if the attacker only had second-hand or limited knowledge, whatever they knew about Snape was already too much. And they were probably a fanatical blood-purist, too. If to them Snape was a traitor then they were on Voldemort's side.

Diametrically opposed to James.

And magically he lot more advanced. It may very well be a clever adult, hiding at Hogwarts, coolly and callously playing their hand to bring about Voldemort's victory.

James felt like curling up in a ball and never getting back up again. Or escaping to the muggle world – Sirius would probably join him.

He didn't stand a chance against an opponent of that caliber. However was he supposed to win this? What- or whoever had provided him with those memories… had there been any aim to it at all? Was his struggle against the outcome he remembered actually of any relevance?

With a sigh he raised his head to stare at the painting. He'd never been the type to just hide and wait for it all to pass – even if it may have been a better choice at certain junctions in his life. So what to do… he didn't even stand a chance at figuring out who the attacker could be.

All he took notice of where those elements that were out of place.

Like the attack on Snape.

And Professor Parker.

* * *

Harry had just left the Great Hall in search of a quiet spot to think. Preferably outside – and out of sight of the castle. The attack on Snape and the missing Horcrux had left him shaken; and he needed to figure out a plan of action.

Relief flooded him already when he stepped out into outside passage, leading alongside the castle up to the lake. The sky was overcast, the wind cold – and maybe he could grab a broom somewhere.

Flying always helped him clear his mind.

"… you sure?" he heard McGonagall's voice before he rounded a corner.

"We wouldn't be helping anybody by panicking," replied Dumbledore gravely, "In the current political climate closing Hogwarts would cause a major disturbance, and further weaken our position."

McGonagall mumbled something, and Harry automatically stopped. Once more he felt like a student overhearing a conversation between his teachers – even though this time he could guess Dumbledore was referring to Voldemort's rise to power.

"Is Hogwarts really so important? Even if the press goes into an uproar about this attack, will it have so far-reaching implications, Albus? To be honest, as much as this does indeed appear to have been an incident between students, I would feel better if we had an official investigation to clear it up," said McGonagall.

Harry bit his lip. He was rather interested in hearing the answer to this himself. However Dumbledore remained silent, prompting McGonagall to add: "I'd especially feel a lot of safer if we could get an official clear-up on this spell. You saw what it did – and we were really lucky Parker did know how to undo it. How do you think the Board of Governors would react should they find out?"

"Badly," replied Dumbledore with a heavy sigh, "Very badly I fear. However, for the time being I would like to try and keep the situation calm – don't worry, Minerva, I shall take full responsibility should the press or the Board become involved."

"Why can't we just get that official investigation, Albus? It would be much easier, and we all would be sleeping a lot of better," protested McGonagall.

Their voices were coming closer, and Harry suddenly became aware of how he had just frozen right in the middle of the passage. A short look around revealed an abundance of hiding spots – but he'd look rather stupid should some student catch him climbing down from a tree or crawling out from a bush.

"Currently there is a fraction within the ministry that would like nothing better than use such an incident at Hogwarts to accuse the current administration as incompetent and the security measures at school as too lax – they would like to do background screening for all potential students and staff," replied Dumbledore, "As well as install a number of measures of their own design; among them certain adjustments concerning the curriculum."

"You mean to say there are fractions in the government that are siding with those Death Eaters?" asked McGonagall, though even she was trying to sound skeptical, Harry could tell she had little doubt about it.

"You know it's true, Minerva," replied Dumbledore, "And they would love nothing better than to start practicing their ideas at Hogwarts."

"Could they do that should they find out about this incident?" asked McGonagall.

They were close; and Harry had yet to decide whether he was going to hide in the shed on the other side of the Courtyard or just make use of the door three steps behind him.

"Since we're suspecting the attacker to be a student ourselves, implementing background checks on the students doesn't seem out of question," replied Dumbledore evenly, while Harry decided to head for the door, "Also a number of security measures may be…"

The rest was lost, since they were too close, and Harry had to slip behind the door. Being from thick oak, he did not hear a word of the conversation after that.

But what he had heard did not bide well. Dumbledore was playing the chess master – and while he had been victorious in the end, too many lives had been sacrificed in the process. If he could prevent this, Harry would do it.

First, however, he really needed to find a broom and get his mind sorted out.

* * *

Shortly after Harry had snuck off in search of a broom, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin dared to breathe again. They had been hiding in the shed, ever since they had first heard the voices of McGonagall and Dumbledore – luckily they had already been in at that time, inspecting the dust-covered collection of gardening tools. After the failed visit to the hospital wing, Remus had decided that Sirius needed fresh air to clear his head, while Sirius had decided they could go and explore – he had also harbored hopes of finding a broom in said shed.

They had not seen their professors, but the conversation they had overheard was enough to leave Sirius upset and Remus pale and worried.

"They'd screw over the whole school if they could," said Sirius once he had made certain they were alone in the courtyard.

Remus swallowed, glancing uneasily from side to side. That he did not see anybody looking out from the windows did not mean nobody was presently listening to them.

"That's exactly what my parents are always talking about – how they'd like to redo Hogwarts, kick out all the Gryffindors and muggleborns, and teach them, y'know, their proper place," Sirius spat, "It'd be totally screwed."

"Yeah," agreed Remus, but he was visibly preoccupied.

Sirius kicked a stone, then turned to his friend with an unhappy grimace on his face. "What is it?"

"What they said…," said Remus, "You know, how only Professor Parker knew that spell… Madame Pomfrey said she didn't know it either, and I couldn't find it in any of the books either."

"Couldn't it just be in a book that's not here?" asked Sirius, thinking about the very selected variety of books occupying a special place on his parents' bookshelves, "Especially is it's a nasty one; I doubt it'd be in any of the books at school."

"Yeah, but still its kinda weird, isn't it? How only one of the professors coincidentally know a spell that is news even to McGonagall?" asked Remus.

Sirius shrugged. "I dunno. But I really hope this doesn't blow up – if the headmaster's right, it could end up being a real nightmare."

* * *

The moment Harry's feet had left the ground he could breathe a little easier.

It had been too long since he had been in the air. Too long since his brain had done anything but turn and turn in circles. It felt like an enormous weight was being lifted from his chest, and he skillfully directed the broom along the tree line of the forbidden forest, making certain he would not be seen easily.

A cold wind was blowing sideways, challenging his skills, tearing at his robe and high above him dark, grey clouds flew by. Not much more than two hours of daylight could be left – yet the rolling hills surrounding Hogwarts had never looked better to Harry than they did today.

In a way it was odd, he thought as he made his way to the far shores of the Great Lake, from here nothing, nothing looked different than it would twenty years in the future. Maybe if he'd come back to see Rom and Hermione waiting for him. And when they'd go back to Gryffindor tower, McGonagall would sternly frown at them, Fred and George tease, and Ginny would shyly smile at him from behind her brothers.

He shook his head, took a deep breath and left the trees for the water. It was far away enough from the castle, here, to remain unseen, even out in the open like this. For thirty minutes or so he just concentrated on flying – bringing the broom close enough to the lake's surface to scare the fishes underneath, pulling up sharply and descending at an ankle that was hardly any different from falling.

Only when he was out of breath and the cold wind felt refreshing rather than icy he slowed down, and let his mind work again.

Dumbledore was trying to keep things quiet – his reasoning was sound, though Harry had to admit he had kept no tabs on Death Eater activity ever since he'd found the diadem missing. He would need to read the Prophet – even though they were no reliable source, it was better than no news.

The diadem was still missing, and he had no idea who had taken it. If it was a time traveler – and perhaps the same who had attacked Snape – he ought to see that he got hold of the other Horcruxes before his mysterious opponent got to them too.

Also, Snape's attacker was most likely a time traveler as well. All evidence pointed it to be a supporter of Voldemort's – however, there was a possibility they were not on Voldemort's side and had only incomplete knowledge of the future. Maybe they had overheard or seen a vision like Trelawney's – something that was veiled, ambiguous. Maybe a vision of Snape killing Dumbledore atop the Astronomy Tower.

In that case he might have an ally. Still, Harry thought it unlikely – and furthermore he wasn't certain if he actually wanted an ally that attacked eleven-year olds with vicious spells.

* * *

James had turned the situation over in his head and felt like pulling out his hair. Instead of figuring out a solution, he was developing a headache.

And a very, very intense suspicion of Professor Parker. Certainly, the man had never made a conspicuous move, and neither his rhetoric nor his teachings appeared suspicious – hell, Parker was completely inconsequential next to such glorious teaching personalities like Umbridge.

Yet he was the one not supposed to be here according to James' memories. And whoever had attacked Snape did have knowledge of the future.

If now Parker was a time-traveler as well, he could have been the attacker.

But there were so many other possibilities. There was no proof that Parker was a time-traveler. Hadn't James observed quite some other changes already taking place when comparing current events to what he recalled? Maybe the alterations in history had begun earlier, and Parker was just one of the ripples caused by a harmless action at another time?

He didn't know, had no idea of how to find out a reliable answer, and felt like going insane.

And that did not change after darkness had fallen, and it was time for dinner.

* * *

"How's the patient?" asked Flitwick over dinner.

Harry made certain to concentrate on his food, so that nobody would notice him listening.

Madame Pomfrey made a sound that was not entirely unhappy. "On the mend. He was starting to come around earlier, but I decided to keep under until tomorrow. It's still going to be quite painful then."

"Right, that odd spell really did a thing on him, didn't it," replied Flitwick.

"Actually those injuries are healing fairly well," corrected Pomfrey, "It's the amount of dark magic that renders most healing draughts largely ineffective. And of course the boy is underweight, so his body's immune system is not helping much either."

Harry swallowed hard, and the fragrant chicken breast tasted like ash in his mouth. There was just so much wrong…

How had he ever believed he could just go back in time and fix it?

* * *

"Actually," said Sirius in a very low voice, so only James, Remus and Peter could hear, "Earlier on Remus and me overheard the headmaster and McGonagall talk. They were saying only Parker recognized the curse. Isn't that … well, awfully convenient."

James' heart dropped. But while he hadn't wanted to hear Sirius suspect Parker – it wasn't as if those news came as a surprise. He nodded, not trusting his voice to form a sentence.

Peter had paled. "But he's a teacher," he protested.

"That doesn't mean anything," said Sirius darkly and James had to agree.

"I don't think Dumbledore would hire anybody dangerous," said Remus, seeing Peter swaying on his feet.

James bit his lip. Quirrel, Umbridge – Dumbledore was perfectly capable of hiring somebody dangerous. But he had been aware – was the headmaster playing the same game right now? Had so much changed from that future James remembered?

If Parker was dangerous, and the headmaster allowed him here – didn't he care about who could possibly die?

"Well, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to sleep," said Remus, and Peter turned to follow him. James glanced at Remus and found no trace of fatigue in his face. Instead there was a grim determination mirroring his own.

"What are you thinking, James?" asked Sirius.

How much could he reveal?

"I think Parker might be dangerous. If he really was the only one who knew the spell, then that's suspicious," said James, knowing that if Parker had really recognized the spell for what it was he had to be a time traveler. And had probably cast it himself, "What do we do?"

"Ask Snape," said Sirius.

James felt a grin spread over his face. He'd thought along the lines of warning Snape to stay clear of Parker himself. "Tonight?" he asked.

"It's not as if we want any of the professors to overhear that?" said Sirius with one raised eyebrow, "And I always wanted to explore the castle at night."

* * *

There was another staff meeting after dinner.

Harry dropped in the armchair in the left corner of the room again – he started to think of it as his. Besides being comfortable, and hidden away from the room's large chandelier, it was also close to the exit, and, during daytime, offered a good view over the grounds descending to the lake shore on through the window opposite.

Now it was dark, and all he could see in the window were the reflections of the milling staff.

Dumbledore entered shortly afterwards, followed by a grim faced McGonagall. Silence fell immediately – from their expressions, Harry could tell his colleagues felt exhausted, too. He leaned back, and wrapped his hands around a warm tea mug.

"Anything new?" asked Slughorn.

Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat. "Mr. Snape woke up earlier this evening. At this time it appears he is not suffering from any mental effects of the spells used on him, and will probably make a full recovery."

Harry felt like sighing in relief. He wasn't the only one – on the other side of room, Xylanti actually did, and Flitwick also relaxed in his seat.

"Did he remember who attacked him, Poppy?" asked McGonagall.

The nurse shook her head. "He claims he had been knocked out by a spell on his way down to breakfast. After that he doesn't remember a thing."

"I doubt it. Casting cruciatus on an unconscious person just doesn't make sense," said Sprout abruptly, and Harry almost choked on his tea. Muttering took up, and McGonagall's grim face only relaxed when Madame Pomfrey turned to the assembled staff.

"I thought the same. It is much more probable the memories have been suppressed," she said, using the same factual tone Sprout had, "And I would strongly advise against attempting to restore them magically at this point."

"I don't think such a risky procedure will be necessary," said Dumbledore, "However I wonder – Mr. Snape was on his own when he was attacked?"

"Yes," replied Slughorn, and Harry almost got a crick in his neck trying to catch sight of the potion's teacher, "His dorm mates informed me Mr. Snape habitually visits the library before breakfast, and as such usually arrives on his own."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. Then he nodded toward McGonagall.

"A student of mine came by my office earlier to inform me, that it was her who had inadvertently passed on the information that Mr. Snape's father is a muggle to other members of Gryffindor house," McGonagall did not look very happy.

Harry realized with a jolt that she had to be speaking about Lily. No other student could have possibly known about Snape's parents – and something in his stomach churned unpleasantly, while McGonagall carried on. "It seems then, that during a confrontation Mr. Black revealed this before a group of students from Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Silence descended – and this time it felt heavy rather than exhausted. Harry however was lost in his own head – with everything happening he had paid little attention to his own mother. After the initial joy of seeing her in his class, he had focused on other things.

And now he couldn't help feeling guilty. Because Lily was one of the keys to changing history – and one of the persons he wanted alive and happy before all others.

"So we can assume that the information passed through the grapevine until one student, how do you say it nowadays, snapped," summed Dumbledore up, "At this time we still do not know who the culprit was, but I believe we can narrow the list down."

He looked at everyone, and those blue eyes, twinkling over the rim of his glasses, regained confidence. "Since it is late, I would suggest we adjourn until Friday. For the time being, Horace, Minerva, would you stay behind for a moment?"

* * *

Sneaking out at night was more difficult than James had expected. First Peter was unable to fall asleep, tossing and turning for almost an hour – and then Sirius had almost dozed off, and James really couldn't be too loud as Remus was a very light sleeper. Especially now that the moon was waxing.

Eventually they made it, throwing their robes on over their pajamas. The trip to the hospital wing was fairly easy – James had more than seven years of memories mapping Hogwarts with all her corridors and secret passages, and the habits of caretaker Wiston.

He also knew where and how Madame Pomfrey set her alarms – only Sirius' impressed expression made James uncomfortable. And he made certain to glance about from time to time, and use no spells they had not learned yet – though in the end, they made it to Snape's bedside without casting any spells.

The Slytherin boy was deathly white, and for a moment James' conviction faltered. He hadn't really thought about how seriously Snape had been injured – now, seeing bruises on his throat and face, a bandage wrapped around his head and more peeking out under his pajama sleeves, made him reconsider if waking him up was a good idea.

Sirius had no such qualms. He dropped down on the bed, and first called out quietly, then shook Snape's shoulder. Snape, however, didn't stir.

"I can't wake him," said Sirius in frustration.

James frowned. "Let's get him out of the bed."

Sirius looked at him as if he was insane. James hurried to explain: "Sometimes they do something to the pillows to make people fall asleep. So maybe…"

Sirius shrugged. "Well, let's try."

James swallowed. In the first war mediwizards and nurses had cast sleeping charms on the pillows of those too injured to be spelled to sleep directly. He hadn't seen many of these – but a good friend of his had passed away under a charm like that, with half of his body gone and his body damaged beyond repair by Death Eaters.

He had to close his eyes, and fight back the memories, while Sirius glanced at him with impatience written all over his face.

When James glanced up Sirius was trying to pull Snape off of the hospital bed by his shoulders, and gesturing for James to help out. He trotted over obediently and grabbed Snape's legs.

"Where to?" hissed Sirius.

"Madame Pomfrey's office," replied James.

It turned out one of them could have easily carried Snape alone – he may have only been a head smaller than James, but seemed to be made up only of bones. Not that the hospital pajamas did much to hide that fact.

When Sirius opened the office door with his elbow James noticed Snape shudder. Hospital Pajamas, he recalled, weren't warm either.

And Snape was actually coming around. His eyelids fluttered, as James kicked the door shut behind him, and he and Sirius barely managed to deposit Snape in a plush armchair, before he started twitching and finally opened his eyes.

For a moment Snape stared at them in a mixture of disbelief and bewilderment. James exchanged a glance with Sirius. Then the reality of the situation registered.

"Potter," Snape tried to spit, but his voice was hoarse, barely there, "Black."

Snape's hand shot up to his throat, but the movement couldn't have been good – he flinched in pain, and let the hand sink back, eyes squeezed shut. For a moment James felt guilty – he could see bandages peak out from underneath Snape's pajamas and there was nasty bruises discoloring the skin on his throat. Carrying him over here had probably done nothing good for him.

But they had to warn him. Lest he got really killed the next time.

James swallowed, but Sirius leaned forward. "Snape," he said, displeasure written all over his face, "What do you remember?"

Snape's eyes widened, and his breath caught. For a moment he just sat there; pajamas hanging off his thin frame and huge dark eyes staring sightlessly into space, as a myriad of emotions passed over his face. Then they all vanished and Snape's eyes focused on Sirius.

"Nothing," said Snape.

James didn't like the calculating look on Snape's face – but Sirius didn't notice.

"Doesn't matter," said Sirius and leaned forward, "Listen, the professors think some student did it. I dunno about that, but make sure nobody kicks up a fuss. There are people outside Hogwarts who'd love this – they'd either shut it, or turn it into a nightmare. You don't want that, Snape, do you?"

Snape wordlessly shook his head. There was a hint of fear in his expression – but then, to him James and Sirius must appear completely mad.

"Good," said Sirius, "Make sure nothing happens."

"And," James heard himself add, "Stay away from Parker."

"What?" asked Snape. He gazed from Sirius to James and back, obviously uncertain what to make of them.

"There's something not right about him," said James, and Sirius joined in: "Nobody knew what curse'd been used on you. Along comes Parker who incidentally knows."

"But why would…" Whatever Snape was trying to say was lost as his voice dropped away, and he grimaced.

James shrugged, leaning back against Pomfrey's desk. "I don't know. Maybe he didn't cast it – but it's still suspicious. So just stay clear of him."

Because, James thought, the next time a curse like that might very well kill Snape.

_tbc_

* * *

_Please feel free to share your impressions and ideas with me. ^^_


	8. 8 Moving On

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Warnings: **None here. Next chapter however…

**AN:** Thank you for reading and reviewing. That last week in November was something of a nightmare, but now that I can breathe again I'm also free to write. And there may be further updates coming along this month. Also I will go back and change some minor details where I messed up the timeline. ^^;

**Reviews:**

Crypton89: Thank you very much for reading. I hope I can keep the suspense up. ^^

The Queen's Fabler: Thank you very much for reading. I generally like storylines that deal with consequences of actions – and there's always the personal responsibility the main players carry. It's a lovely scenario to explore.

Kittyhawk09: Thank you very much for reading. Indeed the scenario is becoming a bit convoluted, but it will also be a moment before the situation calms down again. And probably take more than one confrontation. ^^

Zirael07: Thank you very much for reading. I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter, too.

Galgalatz: Thank you very much for reading. The identity of the culprit will remain hidden a bit longer. But there's going to be other things happening in between. ^_~

Saramagician: Thank you very much for reading. It would probably be much easier if James and Harry teamed up, but right now they don't even know about each other – and the limited information they have makes a pact not that realistic (right now). But well, we'll see.

MostLikelyNot: Thank you very much for reading! And I'll try my best to provide more updates in the future.

Duj: Thank you very much for reading. Gryffindor and Slytherin prejudices are going to linger for a while with all the main characters. Though their individual viewpoints may end up changing if history takes another course …

* * *

**8. Moving On**

Once again it was in the middle of the night when Harry Potter snuck out of his rooms– and headed straight to the dungeons. Slughorn had accidentally revealed where that last piece of evidence Dumbledore had mentioned earlier was.

Security measures, Harry thought with a frown, were not exactly tight. Anybody on the staff could have gotten this information -

Harry frowned. He remembered the feeling of betrayal only too well…

Yes, a vision of that scene could cause a staunch supporter of Dumbledore's cause to go out and attack a younger Snape in hopes of changing the future. Even if attacking an eleven-year old for some crime they would commit in the future seemed at least morally dubious.

But Harry had dealt with those chess masters long enough to realize that sacrifices meant little if the outcome was correct. The only question – if a supporter of Dumbledore had wanted an eleven-year old Snape dead, and had no qualms about the deed – was why Snape wasn't actually dead.

He had listened closely to Pomfrey, yet while she had said the injuries had been life-threatening, Snape was alive. If Snape had been attacked in order to eliminate his actions from the run of history, an Avada Kedavra would have been the obvious solution.

Harming or torturing were not really the style of those that deemed themselves to be the "good" ones in this equation. At least Harry hoped nobody did; though a roll of his stomach indicated this may not quite be the case.

Still, the fact that Snape had not been killed suggested that either the attacker had been interrupted, or the attacker hadn't really cared for killing him. Then again, the injuries had been serious enough that there had been a realistic chance of Snape's death – meaning this was more than a warning.

Harry tiptoed down the last staircase until he arrived at the dungeons. He cast a quick charm to hide himself – Slughorn's quarters were nearby, as was the Slytherin common room and they were probably being supervised right now.

There was the inconspicuous wall next to the potions classroom. All bloodstains had been removed, but Harry could make out the part of the wall covered by a charm. He hesitated for a moment – removing the charm might set off alarms. Luna's glasses would have come handy – but he didn't know how those had been enchanted, and so he decided to risk it.

Luckily a simple finite incantatem did the job – and Harry frowned. Most third year students could cast the spell – did the staff expect nobody to try?

There was still blood on the wall. And the scrawled letters, forming the word "traitor".

Harry watched it for a moment, almost dispassionately. The blood had dried, and he couldn't make out any other hidden clues or messages here. He pursed his lips, thinking. Traitor did fit in Dumbledore's theory of a student attack – only because Harry knew about the spell he could read the word differently.

The question was, if and how to alert Dumbledore to the fact that they were not dealing with a righteous brat, but with a deranged time-traveler?

* * *

Severus Snape woke after a night filled with nightmares he couldn't remember. The sun was already high up, suggesting he had overslept – and yet his entire body felt sluggish and achy. It took another moment for his mind to adjust: Hospital Wing, still, and he probably hadn't dreamt about the visit from Black and Potter either.

He frowned, recalling their warnings. Sirius pressing him to keep silent, while Potter had warned him to stay away from Professor Parker.

Severus cast a contemplative look outside. It was an exceptionally nice day for November – Lily would have loved to go outside, and while he usually wasn't too keen on braving the freezing temperatures, he really wouldn't mind right now.

The cold air might just help him clear his mind.

Sirius warning made sense – even if Severus' stomach coiled at remaining silent. Just because Black had told him not to, a part of him wanted to go out and tell the world – but then Potter had come along with his cryptic warning of Parker.

And Severus couldn't see the connection.

It was as maddening as it was intriguing. But as long as he didn't understand the bigger picture, he felt disinclined to share his knowledge.

Thus, when later during the afternoon Dumbledore appeared to inquire after his health and question him on whether he remembered anything, Severus looked him dead in the eye and said: "No."

* * *

Somewhere in London Tom arrived at his office at the Ministry. Getting the job with the Department of Mysteries had been ridiculously easy in the end. Once he had been invited to the interview he had simply revealed himself to be time-traveler with no means of returning, and from a sufficiently distant period not to affect current events too deeply.

He'd been accepted almost instantly for his knowledge of dark artifacts.

"Morning, Tom," called Susan Giddings from her desk. Tom nodded back – she was ten years his senior, always cheerful and easily fascinated. To the point that all her reports involved the word "mysterious" at least five times.

The Department of Mysteries - at least the headquarters in London – was not overly large with maybe thirty employees. Tom had heard of overseas offices and other locations, but he had yet to see anybody hailing from Hong Kong, Tuvalu or Antigua. Instead he found himself surrounded by other, Hogwarts-educated wizards – and a number of them familiar, too.

Cassius Kallman was a fellow Slytherin, even though he did not recognize Tom. He usually spent a good hour going through at least three different newspapers, scrolling them for relevant news, before turning to whatever files had landed on his desk in the meantime.

Today Cassius was pale. "Another attack," he said, and tossed the newspaper on his desk.

Susan leaned over, as did Tom and five other colleagues. On the front page of the Daily Prophet was a picture of a house in flames, and the headline read: "Muggle Relations Minister Dead: Accident or Arson?"

"Death Eaters again?" asked Quentin Haldach, probably the youngest member of the group.

"Likely," said Susan, and Tom found himself nodding along. Cassius snorted. "Who knows these days. It's as likely as it is not; but Mr. Teel may have brought this upon himself."

"Yeah, did you hear about how he's had an affair with three muggle women? Apparently he used spells to wipe their memories each time," added Ashley Flint, a former Ravenclaw with enormous glasses and an even more enormous taste for gossip.

"Really, I thought the press only made that up?" said Susan.

"He was under observation due to misconduct," offered Quentin.

"Well, whatever," said Susan, "Tom, would you mind taking these letters up? They need to get out today."

As Tom had been on his way up to the Ministry's owlery anyhow, he accepted the task without protest. Sometime during his first few weeks here he had established a routine of going to the owlery and checking the department's correspondence – or at least the strange and rare objects they had been delivered.

Today's selection was fairly standard: two envelopes humming with dark magic, one old statue that was supposedly possessed, one ancient key, three unidentifiable objects and a very ordinary looking stone.

When he turned a corner, he collided with another person – and tumbled against the wall from the force of the impact. Tom barely managed to cling onto his precious parcels, while his opposite dropped their letters with a dramatic exclamation.

"Have you no eyes?" hissed the other party sharply. Tom blinked, and found himself staring at a pink toad.

"It's the barest minimum of civility to watch where you're going," the toad continued, eyeing him like a nasty bug, "And what are you looking at? Aren't you going to apologize? I'd really hate to inform your superior, boy, but I may just have to do this as part of my civil responsibility. Can't let this place go to the dogs, you understand?"

She gave him a condescending smile, and Tom's fingers were itching. A part of him wanted nothing more than to make her understand who she was provoking.

Instead he made certain his expression remained smooth. "My apologies, then, Miss…?"

"Umbridge. Dolores Umbridge," said the pink toad with a huff, "Mr. Fudge's personal assistant."

Tom nodded politely and turned to leave when he saw her opening her mouth to embark on another rant.

"A good day to you," he said, and left.

He was going to remember said name.

* * *

It was Friday when Madame Pomfrey declared Severus well enough to leave the Hospital Wing. He made certain to reply politely to all her admonishments – eat more, sleep more and take care – even though at that time he wanted nothing more than to get out.

Madame Pomfrey directed a last frown at him, reminding him to come immediately to the hospital Wing in case he started feeling unwell, but then she pronounced him free to go. Severus couldn't help the faint smile. His muscles still felt stiff, and the worst cuts were not yet completely healed, however the cold air in the corridor outside the Hospital Wing had never been so welcome.

After a glance at the clock he decided to head straight to the Great Hall.

Lunch had started five minutes ago when Severus walked in with a group of Ravenclaw fourth years. He wasn't even half way to his place at Slytherin table, when Lily spotted him.

"Sev!" she exclaimed, and a moment later arms wrapped themselves around his torso and all he could see was the red of Lily's hair. A little stiffly he raised a hand to pat her shoulder – Lily was muttering something, but he couldn't make out a word until she took a step back, and resettled her grip on his arms.

"Goodness, how are you? Are you better? Did Madame Pomfrey let you go? Are you…" Her green eyes were sparkling with concern, but more – and Severus felt his own heart warm in response – also with joy at seeing him.

"I'm fine, Lily," he said, attempting a smile.

Behind her he spied Wilkes and Rosier, awkwardly lingering between them and Slytherin table. The majority of his house was watching, and the expressions ranged between utter disdain, completely unreadable and fond smiles.

Lily tightened her hold on his arms. "Liar," she said, trying to be serious, "You aren't fine."

The cut on his forehead had yet to heal, and his pallor remained unhealthy. So Severus caught Lily's eye and said: "I'm getting there."

She didn't appear too convinced, but before she could say anything else, a completely unexpected party joined the conversation. James Potter had approached them silently, followed by the rest of his group of friends, and awkward didn't even begin to describe the situation.

"Snape," said James, mustering a smile, while glares from Gryffindor and Slytherin table were practically tearing him into pieces, "Good to see you back."

Severus blinked. For a moment he wondered whether Potter was mocking him, but the way the other boy was shifting from one foot to another seemed honest enough.

"Thanks," said Severus with a nod of the head.

Maybe it was his impression, but the Great Hall seemed to have quieted a good deal – at least it felt as if everybody, people, ghosts and portraits, was watching.

"I hope you're recovering well," said Lupin, looking peaky himself, "But anyhow, it's good to see you on your feet again."

"Yeah," added Peter, apparently much to his own surprise as to everybody else's.

All Severus could do was to thank them in return. Meanwhile Lily's smile was widening with each word exchanged, even though the atmosphere was beyond bizarre. At least Sirius only gave a glare and a blink-and-you-miss-it nod of the head.

Severus felt his lips curl up.

Then Sirius turned on his heel, and proclaimed lunch was getting cold.

Lily smiled at Severus and mouthed "meet me after class" while Rosier and Wilkes approached, just as she stepped away. Severus felt himself smile clumsily in return.

"Make sure you try the roast, Snape," called James over his shoulder.

And while Snape was wondering just when James Potter had gone insane, Wilkes slung an arm over his shoulder and called back: "We'll make sure of that."

* * *

Harry left Hogwarts after classes had finished on Friday. He had informed McGonagall and Dumbledore he was going to see friends. He wished he was indeed traveling to London to meet up with Ron, Hermione or Neville at a pub as he tugged his scarf tighter.

The air was cold, and the sky overcast – there was a chance of snowfall in the near future. Harry rather hoped it wouldn't be tonight.

There was a warm light on in Hagrid's hut, beckoning to him. Harry hunched his shoulders and marched on, though he had to admit he missed his friends dearly. Somehow he hadn't really thought about how lonely time-traveling was – how he recognized people, but they never recognized him.

Still, maybe … maybe he could pick up some fire whisky and offer it to Hagrid at another time. Just for the company. For somebody to talk to.

His fingers were still itching when recalled the scene at lunch. Inconspicuous enough that some professors had missed it, but highly significant – a light-hearted exchange between Gryffindor and Slytherin students; something Harry couldn't recall having ever witnessed.

Next to him, Filius had leaned forward, and a glance sideways had revealed Dumbledore watching intently.

Harry wondered what the headmaster had been thinking then. If this little trend turned out more than a unique event – if were to become symbolic for a development – then the future as Harry knew it might just be in for dramatic changes.

His heart fluttered at the idea.

This was what he had come to do. Change the past – and those changes were already unfolding in front of his eyes. Though now it was time for him to take the stage.

Tonight he intended to go to Little Hangleton.

_tbc_


	9. Setting Fire

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**Warnings**: Some wanton destruction, but no blood.

**AN**: Happy New Year! Hopefully I'll write faster in 2013. Meanwhile, thank you very much for your lovely reviews! It always makes me feel amazed if people actually use their precious leisure time to read something I wrote (and it makes me also feel a little less insane to know that there are others out there who find these ideas interesting). Thus, thank you!

For this chapter, I'll skip individual replies (hello, time management) – so if you have any pressing question or find a glaring mistake, please feel free to pm me.

* * *

**9. Setting Fire**

With a crack Harry appeared on a hill crest. For a moment he remained in tense silence, his wand at the ready – but all remained silent.

Around him most of the landscape had been swallowed by the darkness. A sharp wind was blowing, carrying the scent of moss and wood. A few trees dotted the countryside – their leafless branches like pale, twisted bones underneath the moon.

On top of a distant hill sat Riddle Manor.

Harry took a deep breath. The manor itself was dark – it had already been abandoned for decades at this time. Further down the hill he could see a number houses, light in their windows - Little Hangleton looked peaceful from here.

He cast a spell, checking for the presence of other humans, but found none. Thus he de-shrunk one of the school brooms he had borrowed, and took to the sky – only after casting a thorough notice-me-not-spell on himself.

The night air was freezing, and it felt abnormally silent, but Harry shook of his sense of unease. He wasn't rushing into this situation – he wasn't fifteen any longer – and he had all the time required to make certain he remained unseen, unnoticed and untraceable.

Yet he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine when he touched ground just behind the ancient front gates. The grass whistled softly under his feet, but all else stayed silent.

Harry pressed his lips together, stuck the broom under his arm and carefully made his way inside.

If he recalled correctly the Gaunt Ring had been hidden somewhere within this mansion. And in the dark, the entrance hall alone seemed gigantic. For a moment he wondered if a simple _Accio_ would do the trick – after all he knew the object he was searching for – but then, Voldemort had probably taken precautions.

And it wasn't as if he could sense the Horcrux anymore.

On a whim, he decided to head up the main staircase and start searching on the upper floor. It would be slow going, especially since he didn't dare casting a wide-scale lightening spell lest somebody spied light in the mansion from the outside.

Instead he concentrated on the air around him. The heavy magic of the Horcrux and its protections might just be noticeable – he'd noticed it as Hogwarts, how he had felt the castle positively brim with magic. So theoretically he might be able to sense the Horcrux as well, unless other magic objects were hidden in these rooms.

The first two rooms were completely empty. Not even curtains remained – probably having long since been eaten by moths. Outside, a clock chimed, reminding Harry that it wasn't quite so late yet, and time remained to search.

Luck was on his side, and he felt the air crackled as he entered the third room.

It was empty, too, and the dust-covered floorboards were creaking. Harry frowned. If his gut was to be believed, the ring had to be hidden here – but there were no hiding spots visible.

He cast a reveal spell –

And that was when it all went to hell. There was loud hiss, a blinding flash, the floor shuddered, and when Harry removed his arms from his face, blinking like an owl, he sensed something large moving toward him.

He stepped sideways, and something cold, scaly brushed his leg. Another hiss and Harry fired a stunner into that direction – his eyes were tearing up, but he still couldn't see past the stars. Something cracked and fizzled, but the movement didn't stop –

And there was a wall behind his back.

His breath caught, there was another hiss, and he evaded it, barely, again. Another blink, and he could make out the large shape of a snake – not one as he'd ever seen if before, a rich green, with silver patterns and –

The next stunner just bounced off of its body.

Harry's stomach dropped. The snake was magical – this was no living creature but something summoned by magic – he'd set off some ward, the place would be crawling with Death Eaters soon, so even if he got past the snake, he'd probably not get the ring, since he still didn't know where the bloody thing was and …

The snake was fast. Its teeth were glowing eerily, and Harry didn't doubt for a moment those were coated in poison – and all his spells were bouncing off, without any effect, and he knew he didn't need to try an Avada, since this snake wasn't actually alive …

And then he got an idea.

With a sudden sense of calm and dread he pointed his wand at the floor beneath the snake. Concentrated, and then cast _Fiendfire_.

* * *

"Is Remus sick again?" asked Peter on Saturday morning. It was past ten, and while they were having a late breakfast, they were most certainly not the last. Sirius and James had been up a while already – they had watched the Quidditch team practice and were planning to go flying themselves later today.

"Seems so," said Sirius.

"That's the fourth time since we arrived," said Peter, "I wonder if he's seriously sick or something."

James swallowed. The fourth time already – and hadn't he wanted to help him out before? Just to make Remus tell them a little earlier so that he wasn't alone in this?

"I mean he's always so pale," continued Peter, "And often looks so tired. But he always just says he's okay, so I don't know what to do."

Sirius frowned. "Maybe we should just ask him straight away. Or take him outside – he spends so much time in the library, it's no wonder he's pale. Maybe fresh air will help."

"Or maybe we should get him a warm scarf or something? For Christmas, I mean," said Peter.

"We could just get him a lot of chocolate," suggested James spontaneously, "I think he really likes chocolate."

Sirius shrugged. "Why don't we get both?"

"Isn't that a bit - expensive?" asked Peter. His family was most certainly not as wealthy as the Potters or the Blacks, but Peter's allowance wasn't small either. Still, they were eleven, and the presents they had exchanged in James' memory had mostly been sweets and the odd quill, parchment or book. Wizarding clothes were expensive.

Sirius leaned back with a smirk. "My dearest mother has threatened to cut me off again – I don't think she will do it before Christmas, since that would be quite a scandal for the season – so I was thinking I'd better try and see just how much of her money I can spend before that."

James cast him a long look. Either Sirius was underestimating the contents of the Black vault, or he was overestimating his mother's attachment to money. The Walburga Black of James' memory had cared far more about blood purity than about fortune – though, admittedly, she had never actually faced any financial constraints.

Peter swallowed. "Why would she…"

Sirius shrugged. "I told you before, my parents are nuts about houses and stuff. She still starts every letter asking when I'm transferring to Slytherin – as if that was even possible."

He snorted, and took a huge swallow of his juice. James meanwhile wondered if Sirius was really as unconcerned as he was affecting to be – in his memory he couldn't quite recall Sirius caring for his family… but at the start of their second term Regulus had initially followed Sirius around like a lost puppy, suggesting that their relationship had, at least once, been close.

(And after all, hadn't even poor Harry, after having suffered under the Dursleys for so many years in the end not been able to actually hate them? Maybe Sirius was only trying to convince himself as well as the world around him of the fact that he hated his family. )

"Anyhow," said James with a forced smile, "How about we go and see if we can visit Remus later today?"

* * *

Tom found out about the fire at Little Hangleton through a small notice in the Prophet. It had attracted some muggle attention due to being unnaturally difficult to put out – muggles suspected a drug lab, wizards Fiendfire. Thought why anyone would have used an abandoned mansion for either seemed a mystery to both sides.

Tom frowned. He didn't really believe in accidents.

And while he had been intending to return to his time soon, right now he contemplated sticking around a little longer. Because if there were political conspiracies happening, extra knowledge certainly would not hurt.

* * *

Sunday found Lily pulling Severus after her by his sleeve.

"And I found that really lovely place – you have to climb a little, but it looks far more dangerous than it is. And nobody knows how to get there, so it's great. A since there's a roof overhang, you can also stay out during rain. It might be a little cold in winter, though…" she was saying, while Severus was trying his best to match her energetic pace.

The first few days out of hospital wing had been exhausting, to say the least. Everybody was just too friendly – Evan Rosier had loudly promised revenge, he couldn't really go anywhere alone, sweets kept showing up on his desk and even Sirius Black oscillated between glaring and looking vaguely concerned.

He just hoped for the excitement to die down before he hexed someone.

Lily stopped at a rather random place on a spiral staircase. They were in one of the towers on the western side of the castle; adjacent to the lake – though he couldn't see anything but a cloudless blue sky through the window.

"Here," said Lily, and climbed up on the window.

"What are you…" said Severus, but Lily only chuckled, "There's a roof just underneath. Come on!"

He swallowed, and then pulled himself up next to her. The cold stone was digging uncomfortably into his kneecaps, but the scenery was dazzling – he hadn't realized they were up this high. Beneath him sprawled a forest of spires, rooftops and small courtyards, and beyond that a range of snow-capped mountains. On the left lay the lake, glittering under a winter sun.

Lily grinned, contently. Then she swung her legs out and dropped down on a wide, flat roof that was not even a meter underneath.

"Come on, you haven't even seen the best yet," she said.

Severus took a deep breath. The roof was wide – but the drop deep. He wasn't particularly afraid of heights, yet neither did he have Lily's grace – she had always been the one to scale trees beyond where he trusted himself to go.

Still, this did look safe. And the roof also failed to disappear from underneath his feet, so Severus mustered his courage and followed Lily across the shingles.

She easily navigated the uneven ground, undaunted by the height, the icy breeze or the dizzying panorama around them. Up onto another roof, around a corner, and then down again – and Severus found himself standing on a square expanse nestled between two buildings; half of it shaded by a far overhanging roof.

"Isn't it great?" asked Lily.

Severus, who had just turned to gaze at the lake, found it hard to find the words. "Amazing," he mumbled, "Really amazing."

"Let's make it our secret hideout," suggested Lily.

Severus turned around. "It might get cold in winter."

"Well," said Lily, "I don't suppose there's a spell for that?"

"I'd rather say we find some way to close that space off – otherwise you'll still get wet if the weather's really bad," Severus was studying the overhanging roof intensively. An enchanted piece of fabric could well do the job…

"And then we should get some chairs, too," said Lily, and plopped down on the ground, "It's okay right now, but the stone is hard."

Severus nodded and sat down next to her. The stone wasn't even that cold – the sun had warmed them up.

"So," Lily began and hesitated momentarily before pressing on, "What happened? I mean, you don't need to tell me, but all I heard were rumors, and I don't really know so I …"

Severus lifted his hand to cut off her ramblings. "The thing is, I don't really know either."

Lily blinked. "What? But Mary said you were attacked because your f…"

"Actually, that's pure speculation," said Severus, with a humorless grin, "But Dumbledore thinks the same."

"So what happened?" asked Lily, her wide green eyes fixed on his face.

Severus took a deep breath and turned to look at the lake. "According to Dumbledore I was attacked by an upper level student with an obscure curse. Probably because they were offended by my being in Slytherin house even though my father is a muggle. So it's probably somebody from Slytherin…"

When he cast a glance back at Lily, she had gone pale. "So it's really because I told Black about your father?"

Severus hastened to reply, "No. They would have found out anyway, if they didn't know already. It's not as if Snape is a wizarding name, after all. I don't think you have anything to do with it…"

She nodded, but was still visibly uncomfortable.

"Actually, everybody in Slytherin is being really nice right now," Severus added, "It's a little weird, actually."

"Yeah, we kind of ran into your housemates when we wanted to visit you in the hospital wing," said Lily, "Black almost got into a fight with… Rosier, isn't it? They were speculating whether or not some Gryffindor had done it."

Severus nodded. "Some still are. While Dumbledore's theory seems the most likely, I …"

He trailed off. A breeze made Lily's hair flutter as she turned to look at him. "You?"

"There are some things off about the entire affair. Some things just don't make sense," he shrugged.

Lily shuddered – whether it was from the cold or something else was hard to tell. The sun was steadily sinking lower. They hadn't been out here long, but by now the days were short.

Severus swallowed. "Actually, Black and Potter paid me a visit. Black told me to stay quiet – something about not getting people outside of the school involved. And Potter told me to stay away from Parker. Apparently he was the only one who recognized the curse."

"What curse was it, anyway?" asked Lily.

"Madame Pomfrey said it was called Sectumsempra," Severus bit his lip, "However, I looked through the library and didn't even find a trace of it."

His ribs ached in memory. The cuts had faded to red scars that would hopefully disappear soon, but the memory of the pain was fresh.

Lily frowned. "Maybe it's in the restricted section."

Severus nodded. "Probably. But even then, it would be quite obscure if only one Professor at the school recognized it."

"Well, Parker teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Maybe he just knows his subject very well," she suggested.

The wind picked up again, and this time Severus shivered. "Maybe," he agreed.

"But why did Potter warn you to stay away from him?" asked Lily and tugged her scarf tighter around her neck. With the sun sinking lower, the lake was fast becoming a glistening surface Severus couldn't even look at. And the white mountain tops started glimmering gold.

"He only mentioned the spell – but he did seem rather convinced," Severus shrugged.

"Maybe you should ask him again," said Lily, "You know, if Parker is actually dangerous…" this time she trailed off. For a moment both of them watched as the turrets slowly changed color in the sunset. When Lily opened her mouth again, her cheeks were rosy and Severus' fingers frozen.

"Sev, do you think they will try to attack you again?" she asked, quietly.

When he turned to look at her, her red hair was glowing like fire. "I don't know," said Severus, "But I don't think so."

He knew what had been written on that wall – Wilkes had seen right through the concealing spell and told him – and while his attacker had caused serious harm, Sectumsempra was not what one used for a kill. This had been a message.

Or a warning.

Even though he still didn't know of what or to whom.

Lily studied him closely. "You think so?"

He could only shrug his shoulders in response, and shiver as a gust of cold wind caught him unprepared. "It's all speculation right now. I don't think they really intended to kill me, so I'm not sure for what reason they would attack me again… it really wouldn't make sense."

She nodded. "Well, how about anybody else? I mean, if they attacked you on the grounds that your father is a muggle, maybe they will attack other students as well?"

"Perhaps," said Severus, "But at least in Slytherin, I don't think there are currently any other students with muggle parents."

"Really?" Lily appeared surprised.

"Yes, you know, Slytherin attracts a lot of the old wizarding families – Black surely told you about that," Severus pulled his robe tighter around his shoulders. The fabric really wasn't thick enough to withstand sharp wind or subzero temperatures. But he couldn't very well ask his mother for another one – though maybe a pair of gloves for his birthday…

"He did," she confirmed, "But I thought he was exaggerating."

"Not really. Some people are quite obsessed with bloodlines and so on," said Severus. And the obsession came to a nice head in Slytherin House, even if in his presence most had made certain to distance themselves from the more fanatic fractions (and after all, his mother's maiden name apparently did count for something).

Lily was silent for a moment. "That's also the same with what's going on out there, isn't it? Elizabeth Higgins from 5th year gets the prophet, and they talk a lot… if you listen to them, sometimes you think it's a war."

Severus hadn't paid much attention to the news either. "People in Slytherin house are talking, too…"

"And that's all about who has or doesn't have muggle parents?" she chuckled, incredulously, but there was no humor in it.

"There're some more political reasons," said Severus. At least, according to Lucius Malfoy and others there were, but he couldn't really remember them.

"It's scary," said Lily, and pulled her knees up to her body, "I mean, it's one thing if those things happen out there. But if people get attacked in school for this, too…"

And there really wasn't anything he could say.

* * *

Three days after the start of December, breakfast at the Great Hall was interrupted by a large, black owl sweeping in. The hall fell into a tense silence – even the clattering of tableware began to die down.

The prophet had not been delivered yet –

And then owl landed in front of a fourth year Ravenclaw, Evelyn Zanelli. In a demonstrative show of politeness, a number of other Ravenclaw students turned back to their breakfast. James thought they ought to do the same – a black owl was bad news, and nobody needed to know the details.

But he still found himself watching as she reached out, pale-faced, to remove the parchment.

There was no outcry or anything. Instead, with the majority of students watching her, she read the parchment, folded it back and then got up and left the hall. She would have almost looked unconcerned, if not for the slight unsteadiness of her steps.

"Oh god," said Peter the moment the door had fallen shut behind her, "Her parents were killed, weren't they?"

Lily blanched, Remus bit his lip and James wanted to name it all just speculation – but when the Prophet arrived ten minutes later, their worst fears were confirmed. Aurors Elias and Alexandra Zanelli had been killed in an attack on their home.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the head table, Harry Potter was looking at the same headline and wondered if this was revenge for what he had down at Little Hangleton.

* * *

"Let's go flying," said Sirius and tossed his Transformation book on his bed.

They didn't have any lessons this afternoon, and the weather had stayed sunny. James glanced up – he wasn't particularly enamored with this piece of homework either, and the clear blue sky outside was beckoning.

"Why not," he said, "It's going to be dark soon enough. We can finish our essays then."

"You go ahead without me," said Remus softly. He was still sickly pale, and James had caught sight of a bandage peeking out underneath his collar.

And he couldn't stop the guilt from blossoming in his stomach.

"We'll sneak you some chocolate from the kitchen," he promised.

Remus mustered a smile. "Thanks. But I think I'll just go down for a while…"

Peter scratched his head. "If you help me with the Potions essay, I'll join you out there."

Sirius grinned. "Sure thing."

Which meant they'd probably all be copying Remus' homework later one. Once again James Potter had to bemoan that while he did recall faces, events and the general course of history, his ability to complete his homework had only seen marginal improvement.

"Let's get some practice brooms then. Everybody else has class, so maybe some of the Quidditch brooms are actually available," said Sirius.

And fifteen minutes later they were out, saddled on the best brooms they had been able to find – which were still barely adequate. However, as far as James recalled, his parents had gifted him a fine broom at Christmas. And that was less than a month away.

Sirius then proceeded to pull another object from his robe – an old, battered snitch. "Got my brother to send me this," he proclaimed, "It's going to return here after an hour."

"Unless we catch it first," said Peter.

Surprisingly, as James recalled, Peter was not all that bad on a broom. His skills did pale in comparison to Sirius' and James', but they had been on the Quidditch team, while Peter had mostly used the broom as a means of transport.

"Then, let's get ready, gentlemen," said Sirius.

"May the best one win," said James.

And on the count of three Sirius released the snitch.

Ten minutes later they had dispersed – and the snitch remained out of sight. James was flying over the lake – he had seen something golden glitter here, though that might have been a trick of the light. He had last seen Sirius when he'd take off for the Forbidden Forest; and James thought Peter might have stayed near the castle.

Fact was he didn't see any of them.

He slowed down, and trailed over the water, looking for a movement to give the snitch away.

The bright light made his eyes hurt, and eventually he concluded that he probably had been mistaken. Or that, if the snitch was indeed out over the water, it would be impossible to spot.

He decided to approach the castle instead, aiming for a wide sweep around it – on the ground he could make out students milling about, and wondered how much time had passed.

There was an odd noise, then – it sounded like a shout.

Then his limbs froze abruptly, with an unfamiliar-familiar tingle. He tried to move a finger, found he couldn't, his heart jumped, and then he was falling.

_Stupefy_

Air rushed past his ears, the water's surface was approaching rapidly, he couldn't move, couldn't even scream and somebody had cast that spell on him. Somebody had –

He hit the water.

_tbc_

* * *

_AN: Thank you for reading and_ _please feel free to share your impressions with me_. ^_^


	10. Movements in the Water

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Warnings: **Nah. :)

**AN:** Once again, thank you very much for reading. Further thanks go out to people pointing out mistakes - quite some embarrassing ones among them. I shall take note of this for future chapters, and probably also get around to fixing these in the previous chapters (maybe in late February? Time is currently a bit sparse). That said, thank you for reading and leaving feedback! It's like sunshine - which is fantastic considering I haven't seen the sun since Christmas. ^_~

**Reviews:** Thank you guys for reviewing! And as promised, here's replies to chapter 8&9!**  
**

Saramagican: Thank you for reading! Harry did manage to do something, but it will have some consequences. And while there won't be much Severus/James interaction in this chapter, they both get a bit more screentime.

Galgalatz: Thank you for reading! And indeed, James' fall is not harmless.

afhirfearness0423: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy the plot - it's supposed to last for quite some time, so currently I'm rather introducing new strings instead of wrapping them up - and there are still some things not yet introduced. ^^

kittyhawk09: Thank you very much for reading! I'm glad the scene worked - I find action scenes a bit difficult to write, though I do love reading them. :)

esky7: Thank you very much for reading! Concerning pairings - I haven't made an ultimate decision yet, but I share your view on Severus/Lily. And as for Tom's actions ... uhm, I have been intentionally misleading people here. ^_~

compasspointstars: Thank you very much for reading! I do hope the plot lives up to your expectations! ^_^

ashtree22: Thank you for reading! I haven't actually made Tom's motives clear, since there's a bit of a plotline here that hasn't fully emerged yet (there's a hint in the first chapter) - but well, there's rationale for him being in the Department of Mysteries.

Hwyla: Thank you for reading! You picked up a number of fine points - and some things I just haven't really gotten around to explaining yet. Which shall be remedied in the future. :) As for teenage James, I thought it would be nice if he got a chance to see what his actions caused - and got another chance to change it all.

neesie-pie: Thank you for reading! The ending, actually, is quite a way off, and I haven't decided on pairings yet. And with the protagonists being as young as they are, romance is still some chapters away.

* * *

**Movements in the Water**

It was a movement Peter barely caught, out over the lake. Only in the corner of his eye – it may have been a trick of the light. Then he heard a splash and spied the empty broom hovering in the air.

"James?" he shouted – it came out as a whisper.

The broom began its slow descent, now that it had lost its rider. Peter, too, felt like falling. He had seen James head out over the lake, had seen him circle there, secure and comfortable on his broom.

How …?

Bubbles on the lake's surface.

"JAMES!" he screamed.

* * *

"Did you hear?" asked Darius Rowley, a second-year Slytherin, excitedly, "James Potter fell off his broom!"

Classes had ended a good while ago, and most students had withdrawn to the common room to do their homework – or alternatively, discuss the nearing Christmas break. Chuckling echoed through the room at Darius' enthusiastic statement.

Severus kept his eyes fixed on the Potion's journal in front of him, even though Evan Rosier and William Wilkes chuckled at the image. He had completed his homework a while ago – and was staying mainly so that William and Evan could use his essay for reference.

"Dropped straight into the lake I heard," added somebody else, "I wish I had seen that."

"Pity he didn't drown," said Mulciber from his corner of the room with a shrug. Severus pressed his lips together. It had been a closer thing than Mulciber or anybody in this room realized.

"Yeah, and apparently one of our own helped that," added Bellatrix, her voice light, yet threatening, "Didn't they, Snape?"

He flinched as he felt all eyes turn to him – and if the ground decided to spontaneously open up and swallow him right now, he wouldn't really mind. It didn't, so he elected to say nothing and shrug. Bellatrix Black had proven in the last months to be particularly unforgiving – to the point that she had loudly declared she would never consider a half-blood adequate company – though he had the feeling she hadn't liked him even before that.

"Though I do believe it was your cousin who actually pulled Potter out of the lake, wasn't it?" asked Natalia Zabini, smiling sweetly at Bellatrix.

A badly suppressed groan echoed from a dark corner of the room – the Black-Zabini feud had reached almost legendary proportions during the term, much to the grief of all involuntarily involved.

Bellatrix grimaced, before catching herself and smoothing out a stray lock of hair. "Did he?" she asked rhetorically, "Why, that might just be reason enough to finally disinherit him."

Natalia raised a well-shaped eyebrow in response. "Disinherit an eleven-year old. Is it only me who thinks this is not only harsh but actually barbaric? No offense to you, Cissy."

Narcissa, sitting on the far end of a couch buried behind a book only waved in response. Lucius Malfoy, sitting next to her, was visibly less entertained by his Transfiguration textbook.

"It's only consequent," replied Bellatrix, "And Sirius is old enough to know right from wrong – it's necessary."

Her expression, Severus found, was oddly determined. Natalia meanwhile shrugged. "Well, if you're so hard pressed for it, be my guest. But don't be surprised if people start to wonder just why you're so anxious to see even more members of your family disinherited. You know, one might think your resources… ah, whatever."

"I will have you know that…" started Bellatrix, and Severus heard Evan sigh loudly. A subtle wave of movement grasped the room, with people spontaneously deciding that they had done enough studying for the day, the library was a nicer place, or that now was the perfect time for a walk or a nap.

"Let's take a break?" suggested William.

Evan and Severus instantly agreed.

* * *

When James woke, his limbs were numb and heavy, but he was resting on something soft. His sluggish mind had a moment to recognize the familiar ceiling of the Hospital Wing, then a voice exclaimed "James!" and a blurry shape came into view.

"Mum?" he muttered, his voice hoarse.

"Yes, I'm here. How are you?" she sounded upset.

James wanted to sit up, but his body wouldn't agree. His vision cleared however, and he could see his mother's worried expression.

"Okay," he said belatedly since he couldn't quite feel any pain.

She sighed. "Well, that's good, then. Madame Pomfrey said you may feel off for a little while, but should be fine in time for Christmas."

"That's good," he muttered. His entire body felt sore – unsurprisingly, since the last thing he recalled was hitting the water while under a spell.

She leaned forward and took his hand. "Just don't worry and concentrate on getting healthy again. How are you feeling? Do I need to get you anything? A glass of water?"

James weakly shook his head. He had had enough of water for a lifetime – his throat was still burning, and he barely dared to take a deep breath for the latent ache in his chest. There was deep ache in his arm, too, and not a muscle that was not sore.

"If you want to, sleep some more," his mother advised. There was an odd expression playing around the corners of her mouths, "I suppose Madame Pomfrey will be by momentarily, and if you are up to it, I believe the headmaster would like to speak to you."

Her eyes turned serious. "Were you fighting?"

He blinked in surprise, and momentarily forgot about his aches and pains. "No, not at all! We were playing a game, and I was just…"

"Good to know you were merely playing a game, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore, as he pulled back the curtain to enter. His eyes were twinkling, though McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey, following on his heels, appeared serious and concerned, respectively.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," said James' mother in greeting.

"Mrs. Potter," he inclined his head, "Thank you for arriving on short notice. And please sit back down."

While his mother did as instructed, James couldn't help but notice a slight reluctance to her actions. Once again, unbidden, the memories rose – of Dumbledore as a callous chess master, who may have played for the greater good, yet had not hesitated to sacrifice lives – and for a moment he wondered if his parents would have been more hesitant to blindly follow Dumbledore; unlike he himself had done in those haunting recollections. Perhaps they knew too well about Grindelwald – perhaps they, too, had known about the role Dumbledore had played, not only in Grindelwald's fall, but also his rise.

"Now, Mr. Potter, do you think you could answer a few questions?" Dumbledore inquired, smiling benignly.

James carefully fixed his eyes on Dumbledore's beard – he didn't think the headmaster would dare using legilimency here – yet he couldn't be too careful. Not when everything was going into pieces around him already.

"Sure," he said and mustered a slight grin.

His mother, he noted, was tense, as was McGonagall. Madame Pomfrey interrupted with a sigh, "Just a moment, Albus. Mr. Potter, are you currently experiencing any headache, acute pain, nausea or other conspicuous symptoms?"

He felt as if he'd been trampled by a Hippogriff, but that probably passed for normal in his condition, so he shook his head.

The nurse nodded. "Very well, go ahead, Albus. I'll be in my office, so just call for me should my assistance be needed."

She vanished, while, with a wave of his hand, the headmaster conjured two armchairs – one in dark red, decorated with golden lions chasing each other, while the other was purple monstrosity. McGonagall raised an eyebrow before sitting down.

"Now, Mr. Potter, I already heard from your friends, but I was wondering if you could tell us what happened," said Dumbledore.

James sat up and drew his blanket higher. "We were on our brooms, playing a game. I was over the lake and just returning to the castle, when somebody cast a _stupify _on me. The next moment I couldn't move, and then I was falling. Then I woke up here."

"Did you see them?" asked McGonagall.

James shook his head. "I didn't see or hear anybody."

Dumbledore twirled his beard around a finger. "So how do you know it was a stupify?"

James blinked. He knew it had been a stupify – because he knew what it felt like. He knew due to those blasted memories – and not because any eleven-year old would be able to recognize the spell.

"I read about it," he said, and reached for his tea in order to avoid looking at Dumbledore, "And it was just like described – I couldn't move at all."

"And it was lucky young Mr. Potter hit the water at the angle at which he did. He could have been hurt far worse," called Madam Pomfrey in from the outside, before the echo of her footsteps faded again.

James saw his mother glancing worriedly at him. He swallowed – at a wrong angle he could have easily broken his neck or spine.

"Well," said Dumbledore after a moment, "while we can't rule out anything, it may have been an accident."

"Accident or not, it was still very dangerous and we are lucky that it ended as it did," said his mother, and McGonagall nodded emphatically, "We should inquire. Or at least ask the students to be careful when practicing their magic – such as not to try casting spells on flying objects."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I do believe it might be time to enforce that rule."

* * *

After their small outing (it was too cold to remain outside for too long, and even now Severus' fingers were beginning to turn blue thanks to the thin fabric of his robe) the common room had mostly emptied out. Severus, Evan and William headed for one of the small tables in a corner, and then Evan produced a deck of Exploding Snap cards. William was winning for the third time, when Narcissa approached them, accompanied as always by Lucius Malfoy.

"Go on playing," she said with a smile, when all three boys set down their cards, "I was just wondering – what they were saying today about Sirius pulling Potter out of the lake, is that true?"

Severus nodded.

"You were there?" asked Lucius – and Severus couldn't tell if he was disapproving or not.

"Not right then. I think Sirius and Pettigrew pulled Potter out of the lake – I only came by when they started calling for help," said Severus

Narcissa blinked. "Why?"

"He was completely stiff – stupified – and had swallowed a lot of water," said Severus.

William sat up, surprise on his face. "He could've died."

There was an odd moment of silence around their table. James Potter was certainly not popular with Slytherin House – but that was a long way from wishing him dead.

"What happened?" asked Lucius Malfoy eventually.

"I wasn't there, so I don't really know," said Severus, "Pettigrew said he saw Potter fall – he didn't see any spell cast or anything else, but seeing as Potter was still stupified when they pulled him out, he probably fell after he was hit."

"Sweet Merlin," muttered Narcissa, while Evan pursed his lips. "Wouldn't that wear off after, five minutes, or something like that?"

"Might depend on who cast it," said William from his perch on the couch's armrest, "The more powerful the caster the longer a spell like that would last."

"So somebody might have hit Potter on purpose?" suggested Lucius, and Severus glanced up.

Lucius was eyeing him carefully – as if to remind him that barely a month ago Severus himself had been grievously injured by a still unknown culprit. A shudder ran down his spine.

William, who had been thinking along the same lines, tilted his head. "But why? Why would somebody attack James Potter of all people?"

"Who knows," said Narcissa, "But as to what Bella said earlier…"

Severus pressed his lips together. "Sirius and Pettigrew pulled Potter out of the water. I only stumbled onto them when they were trying to rouse Potter – who wasn't responding at all – and, well, I cast a Finite Incantatem and it worked."

He hoped nobody would inquire as to why he had been close enough to cast that spell, let alone why he had not just walked past. Nobody needed to know that he had been on a walk with Lily when they had heard Peter scream, and how terrified everybody had been when James wasn't waking, and with every moment that water remained in his lungs…

Severus pushed the memory away, all too aware of the watchful eyes observing him.

"That was lucky, then," said Narcissa, and William nodded. Next to her, Lucius frowned. "Indeed. Yet I can't help wonder… they never did find out who attacked you, did they?"

"No," replied Severus, his voice low and even.

"Are they even looking for that guy anymore?" asked Evan, sounding upset. Then he snorted, "Oh, it's probably because you're in Slytherin – can't be too grievous, then, just everyday life in Slytherin house, because we're obviously all dark wizards and killing one of our own is just business as usual."

Narcissa shushed him.

"It's not quite that simple," said Lucius, "Though there may be some truth to it, Rosier. The thing is, an attack like that would cause a scandal if it got out – probably big enough to topple Dumbledore and his entire administration."

The notion eerily echoed Sirius Black's warning. Do not stir up trouble – though from Lucius it sounded less like a warning, and more like an option.

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" asked Evan.

"Perhaps," Lucius sighed, "Then again, who would believe students over the headmaster? And furthermore – what if it was actually somebody from our house who did it? This could go quite ill for us, too."

"You think the attack on Potter is related?" asked Severus abruptly. Evan blinked, thrown by the sudden change of topic, yet Lucius followed the jump without twitching a muscle.

"It seems likely," he said, "We have had plenty of accidents at Hogwarts in the last few years, but rarely any that left the victim's survival up to luck. Also, the actual accidents featured no elusive culprits, nor left they open speculations on possible motives. Thus, I do believe that there is a connection."

"Which then," added Severus thoughtfully, "will cause Dumbledore to investigate further. Because it is unlikely for Potter to be attacked for his blood status."

"And you probably weren't either, then," said William with a small smile, "Though that once again raises the question: why. What connects you and Potter – to a degree that somebody wouldn't mind seeing either of you dead, yet does not go out of their way to ensure just that."

Severus felt a cold shudder go down his spine. William seemed enraptured by the mystery, Evan terrified – Lucius mostly contemplative and Narcissa somewhat concerned.

He shrugged. "I have nothing in common with Potter."

They weren't even friends – had barely managed not to become enemies in the aftermath of Severus being attacked.

"Maybe it's because you sort of cooperate with him," suggested Evan, "I mean, Slytherin doesn't usually get along with Gryffindor."

Severus glared at him. "I do not…"

William interrupted. "Doesn't really make sense. Severus gets along far better with that Evans girl than with Potter, so by that logic it should have been her."

For a split second Severus felt ice crawling through his veins – his mind replacing James' unresponsive body with Lily's – before he could banish this nightmare into the deepest abyss of his mind.

"Be that as it may, I think we probably still miss information," said Narcissa, "As long as we have no actual, suitable theory, I believe being careful is the best precaution. And due to this, I would suggest we stop speculating now and get some sleep."

* * *

After the professors had left, James caught a thoughtful expression on his mother's face. She pursed her lips, then turned to him.

"James, are you certain it was an accident?" she asked.

He blinked, his vision blurring slightly. "I didn't see who did it – I don't know."

"Be that as it may," she said with a sigh, "I talked with your father and the headmaster earlier. And as it is only ten days until Christmas Break, you can come home a bit early if you want to. Madame Pomfrey said you probably wouldn't be up for class prior to the last one or two days, and the headmaster assured me that you wouldn't miss a lot during those two days."

She smiled. "Anyway, I'll leave you to rest up now. Think about it – if you want to, you can probably come home the day after tomorrow."

* * *

Tom visited Little Hangleton on a Saturday. The weather was overcast, but rainfall seemed not imminent. It was cold, though, and he drew his robe a little tighter around his shoulders. He cast a glance down, though there was no reason to worry about the enchantment on his clothes – the muggles here had yet to look at him oddly.

It was odd – Tom had turned his back on the muggle world long ago and sworn never to return. There were however only so many questions he could ask in the wizarding world before attracting attention – so here he was, walking streets he barely remembered.

Little Hangleton had changed. The ancient houses remained the same – only some did sport new coats of paint or small additions. There were far more cars around, and the contents of the shop windows had changed.

Tom had to shake his head. The items on sale at Diagon Alley did change, too, but not as profoundly and aggressively as in the Muggle World. The wizarding world produced timeless goods, whereas muggles constantly had to adjust to new findings and fashions – he didn't know how they could live like that.

Finding the only pub of the village was not difficult. Tom had to admit the menu did not make much sense to him, but in the end he asked the bartender for today's special. And then he leaned forward:

"I was wondering, the house on the hill – it looks as if it burned down recently."

The man nodded, cast a glance around before deciding none of the other two customers were in current need of his services, and leaned against the bar opposite Tom. "Yeah, went up in flames just last month."

"Accident?" inquired Tom.

"Nobody knows," replied the barman, "Nobody has been living there in ages, so maybe some gang or drug dealers moved in, who knows. Some say it was probably a homeless person trying to warm up by lighting a fire or so…"

"But?" asked Tom, dropping his tone conspiratorially.

The man leaned forward. "But it was strange. The fire brigade had a hard time putting it out – took them until the next morning, which is rather odd. I mean, it's a mansion, but you'd think they'd be able to put out a fire of that size faster, especially with the weather being what it is."

He swallowed, and Tom took a polite sip of the golden liquid that had been put down in front of him.

"And the strangest thing happened. Sometime after the fire broke out – you could see it already, most in the village were awake, but the fire truck hadn't really gotten to work yet – there was an explosion. Or something like it; it's hard to describe – a large burst of flame and some kind of pressure wave, and then the sky was all black and green for a moment. It looked creepy. Old Mrs. Miller down the street swore she saw the shape of a skull in the sky; but then she sees a lot of things. Whatever it was, it did however shatter the windows of a couple of the houses closest," the man shrugged, "Well, so I don't think it was just a normal fire, anyway."

Tom just nodded politely. His own mind had started turning things over already.

"Probably a drug lab or something. That would explain the odd smoke," the barman's lips quirked in a grin, "Old Barney from the bakery swears it were the communists."

There wasn't much Tom could add to this – he wasn't interested in muggle politics. Not when a much more tantalizing idea hung about.

Because according to the barman's description the Horcrux at Riddle Manor had been destroyed within the fire. And if that was indeed the case it implied somebody had consciously cast Fiendfire at a supposedly abandoned muggle manor. Probably not by accident.

Which posed the question of who had done it.

And the even more curious question of why he hadn't noticed the Horcrux' destruction. There were several theories – though with Winter solstice approaching fast he wouldn't be able to figure it out. Which was … annoying.

He had traveled in time in order to gain knowledge. Some he had found, but also encountered a mystery – one that, if he found a solution, would probably be invaluable.

Maybe he would stay a little longer.

_tbc_

* * *

_Thank you for reading & please feel free to drop me a line!  
_


	11. And a Happy New Year

**Disclaimer: **Obviously not mine. :)_  
_**Warnings: **None for this chapter.

**AN: **Thank you all very much for reading & reviewing. Once again I apologize for not doing individual replies on this chapter (time is short, as is the chapter, incidentally), however my schedule looks a bit better for early february. Which is part of the reason why I cut this chapter where I did, as I really want to get the scene that follows _right_.

Anyhow, enough ramblings and now on with the fic! ^_^

* * *

**11. And a Happy New Year**

Soft music played in the Potter's main living room. It wasn't the only one in the mansion, and certainly not the largest, but it was the most prominent in James memories as the room he and his parents used to spend their holidays in. The furnishings were a mix of dark red carpets and woodwork, the walls decorated by paintings and bookshelves.

All in all, the room was an eccentric collection of clutter, and maybe that was what attracted their small family to it time and time again, to the point that they yearly had the elves remove one arm chair in order to make place for a Christmas tree.

Now, with the presents opened, the majority of the floor was covered in wrapping paper, and James honestly didn't know what present to address first.

"There is one more thing I would like to give you," said his father while rising from his armchair. The flames in the fireplace crackled merrily, casting the room in a warm, orange glow. James, surrounded by wrapping paper, glanced up in surprise.

"More?" he asked, and the part of his mind that remembered Harry growing up felt dizzy at the decadent presents already surrounding him. The illustrated book on the greatest ten Quidditch games ever played. Two new robes, shirts – for winter and spring, all tailored exactly to his measurements – and this was merely the tip of the iceberg.

"Yes, well," his father chuckled, "Originally I had wanted to wait a few more years before giving this to you – it has been in the family forever, so treat it well."

James sat up straight as his father held out another box – old, and engraved with the family seal – and a small shudder ran down his spine. Carefully, he settled the box on his lap, tracing the lines with his fingers, before pulling back the lid.

Inside he encountered a familiar, grey fabric.

James swallowed. The Invisibility Cloak – and there was a wide smile on his father's face, expectance in his mother's gaze and he shouldn't yet know what this cloak did. So he carefully removed the cloak from the box, caressing the fabric, and praying his parents would not notice anything amiss.

"This is a very special cloak," said his father.

"A hallow," James' memories supplied, "One of the three Deathly Hallows. It's more than a treasured family heirloom."

Did his parents know? Had they known in those memories? And had they knowingly given a Hallow to their teenaged child so that he used it for mischief and havoc at Hogwarts? Or had his parents never actually realized the Cloak's significance? Yet, at least Dumbledore must have recognized it – and if he had, had not told his parents in spite of their friendship.

Either Dumbledore had callously used his parents, or his parents had knowingly given James a Hallow – and he couldn't say which option felt worse.

"Try it on," said his father, "See what is does."

He shoved his dark thoughts aside, and slipped his arms through the sleeves – and they vanished. Where his hand had been, only the dark-red carpet was visible. Not quite knowing how to react, James kept his eyes fixed on his invisible limb and muttered "wow".

"It makes you invisible," said his father with a grin, "So it's brilliant for trips to the kitchen after hours."

James glanced to his mother, and caught a shimmer of unease in her eyes. "And we were thinking, with what happened recently, it may have other uses too," she said, "Don't use it flippantly, James, but please, make sure to carry it with you at all times."

So that when another attack happens, you can disappear – James heard the unspoken plea.

"I will," he promised.

The fabric was warm under his fingers. He recalled huddling under the cloak with Sirius, Remus or Peter, wandering through the corridors after nightfall – to the kitchen, the library, the astronomy tower – the thrill of sneaking past the caretaker and teachers, cool night air around them, and choked giggles.

"It tends to come handy a lot of times," said his father, intentionally lightening the mood, "Not only when you want to go to the kitchen. Also when you're on your way up to the Astronomy Tower."

"Really," interrupted his mother, "Stop giving bad ideas. There's a reason the Astronomy Tower and other places are off limits during the night."

"I'll be careful," promised James, and in the back of his mind he realized whatever responsibility the memories had given him had just become heavier. His options on the field had expanded (he was not a powerless eleven-year old) – even though he still lacked a plan.

If, at the start of the term he had believed just throwing fate off track might be enough, those two attacks during the school year had sufficiently proven him wrong.

* * *

"Another Christmas at Hogwarts," thought Harry as he approached the Great Hall.

It felt oddly ironic, not only because he hadn't expected to be back again. But also because he had been here for four month already – with varying success at the tasks he had set out to achieve. One Horcrux destroyed, yet another had disappeared under curious circumstances – the others well out of reach.

And that was without considering the other strange happenings – two attacks at Hogwarts, and at least one likely the work of another time traveler. The idea alone was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up – messing with time was no simple endeavor, and while Harry himself was certainly doing it, it seemed whoever else was also at work did not share his inhibitions.

Then the doors to the Great Hall opened, and Harry stepped into the familiar scene of floating candles, soft music, and the mouth-watering scent of food. No matter how many problems remained, Harry thought to himself, he would not bother with them on the Christmas.

"Professor Parker," Dumbledore greeted amiably, "Please take a seat. We'll just wait for Professor Flitwick, and then we can begin. Do you think we should eat first, or rather open the presents?"

There was a nice pile of wrapped parcels strewn all over the table – and a number of students and professors eyeing them curiously. Harry's stomach, however growled, so he shrugged, and said "Food first."

"You heard the professor," said Dumbledore with a put-upon sigh.

A grumble in a familiar voice made Harry look to his left. Almost hidden behind Hagrid's bulk were the forms of four first-year students, among them the familiar faces of Sirius and Snape. The other two were another Gryffindor boy (Gerkins) and a Ravenclaw – the latter had obviously been taken under the wing of a group of fifth-year Ravenclaws that had remained.

The number of students that had remained at Hogwarts was certainly larger than it had been during Harry's first Christmas at the castle, but not significantly so. Indeed, it seemed most students that had remained had not done so for political reasons, rather than to help their academic progress.

In the end hardly anything differed from the Christmases in Harry's memory. The food was splendid, and Dumbledore's presents to the students were generous, while those to the staff were teasing (Harry received muggle tourist guide to London. For further weekend excursions – because, as Dumbledore told them, muggles apparently were absolutely taken with the London nightlife, but Dumbledore had only managed to find the appropriate locations with the help of such a guidebook. And even then it had been more of a young people thing – perhaps Professor Parker might find himself right at home).

As nice as the present had been, it had stung – he did miss Ginny, Ron and Hermione, and hadn't really set out to make friends in this time, either. But well, at least he wasn't spending Christmas alone (or in the cupboard under the stairs).

At one point Gerkins leaned over to Sirius, who had just pulled over a large present from the small mountain in front of him and muttered "I thought you were on bad terms with your parents?"

Sirius shrugged. "Yeah, and they didn't send me anything."

"So who's all that stuff from?"

"My uncle, brother, some sycophantic relatives," Sirius surveyed the pile, "Yeah, and I think James and Remus send me something, too."

Harry didn't hear the rest of the conversation, since at this point Hagrid leaned over towards Snape and asked: "Aren't you going to open your presents?"

Snape glanced up, and shook his head. There were five presents neatly stacked next to his plate, two of them school-issued as Harry could tell from their wrapping. Of the other two, one was rather clumsily done in a too-bright paper, and Harry suspected his mother behind it (he was rather curious what kind of a gift she would have sent); the other two quite elegantly wrapped – probably from his fellow Slytherins.

It was testament to Snape's curiosity that he did not linger long after desert, but left for his dormitory. The other students stayed a little longer, until they either succumbed to fatigue or the desire to try out their newest possessions.

Before long the drinks were alcoholic, and then Harry followed Hagrid to his hut to discuss the Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest (he relayed his own experiences as a product of research and reading), and in the end, excluding the shadow that hung over the world outside Hogwarts, it was one of the nicest Christmases he had ever spent at the castle.

* * *

"Mr. Black, you have visitors," said McGonagall.

Sirius glanced up from the armchair next to the fire where he was almost buried under Quidditch magazines and chocolate wrappers. Far underneath the pile somewhere was his Transfiguration homework – he'd resolved to do it once he was done with the magazines. And it was still early morning, anyway.

"Visitors?" he echoed hopefully, "Who?"

Maybe James or Remus had dropped in – they could go flying or just play exploding snap. Without them the holidays turned out heart-stoppingly boring. The older students were busy – with studying or each other, and he didn't really like any of the other first year students that had remained.

"Your uncle and brother, I believe," said McGonagall, "They're waiting in my office."

"I'll be there in a moment," said Sirius, and went to pick up his robe.

McGonagall frowned at him, nodded, and left. Sirius sighed – he'd preferred James' company, but uncle Alphard and Regulus were welcome, too.

Moments later the three of them left McGonagall's office together, with Regulus glancing left and right with wide eyes, and a cheerful grin on Alphard's face.

"You were missed at Christmas," said Alphard.

Sirius glared at him in response, and Alphard shrugged. "Well, I did miss you, and so did Reg. Can't say the same for darling Bella – but I suppose you know her better than I do."

His uncle had the gall to laugh at Sirius' grimace. Then something tugged on Sirius' sleeve.

"Can we see the Great Hall?" asked Regulus, "Or the Forbidden Forest? Or the library, or how about the…"

Sirius ruffled his brother's hair to stop the excited chatter. "Yes, but not all of them at once."

"How about we start inside?" asked Alphard, "It's horrid outside, and we've both been frozen stiff just walking up here from the gate."

"Sure. We'll just start with the Great Hall, then," said Sirius.

"That's the first thing you see of Hogwarts, isn't it?" asked Regulus, "Everybody says so."

"It is," confirmed Sirius, "At least on the inside. You're going to find out soon, anyway."

Regulus smiled. "I'm really looking forward to it. What house do you think I'll be sorted in?"

Sirius glanced at his little brother. There was dark green trim on his black outer robe – certainly their mother's doing – and it made Regulus resemble the other Slytherin children with their fine robes and proper haircuts.

"I don't know," he muttered in response, "The hat usually figures that out."

"And you can't change?" asked Regulus, a little hesitant.

"No, that's not done," replied Sirius, "Once the hat sorts you that is final."

"But what if it's wrong?"

Sirius gritted his teeth. This had to be his mother's doing.

"The hat doesn't make mistakes," said Alphard, sensing Sirius' growing frustration, "It places you according to your strengths and wishes – and there's something to be said for every house. You know, maybe Sirius could take us up to Gryffindor tower later on – I never had a chance to look inside back when I was a student."

"Yes. Do you think we could see Slytherin house, too?" asked Regulus.

"I don't think so," replied Sirius with a shrug, and Regulus' disappointment only lasted for a very few moments before they embarked on their tour. With time Sirius found himself becoming infected by his younger brother's fascination, and told some tales – helped along generously by the ghosts.

On the way back in from the Quidditch pitch they encountered the headmaster and Snape – and Sirius would have ignored them, had not Dumbledore stepped forward to greet Alphard.

"And you would be Sirius' younger brother, is that correct?" asked Dumbledore after pleasantries had been exchanged.

Regulus nodded, a little star-struck.

"Are you enjoying the castle so far?" Dumbledore continued with a smile on his face.

"Very much, sir," said Regulus, having recovered his manners, "It is fantastic. I'm very much looking forward to coming here."

"We'll be looking forward to having you," replied Dumbledore, while Alphard chuckled, "Say, would you like to visit my office? Or one of the other houses?"

"Is that possible, sir?" Regulus' eyes widened, while Sirius rolled his.

"Oh, I guess that's one of the advantages of being headmaster," said Dumbledore with a playful shrug. Behind him, Severus Snape had begun edging away.

Regulus blinked, "Well, then I'd very much like to visit your office. And maybe Slytherin house, if that's possible?"

"Hmm, I think maybe young Mr. Snape could show you around Slytherin house," said Dumbledore and cast a glance toward the Slytherin student that had been one step away from fleeing the scene entirely.

Sirius glared at Severus, but remained silent, while Severus failed to find a valid reason to refuse. So he mustered a faint smile, and nodded his head. "Of course."

* * *

James returned from his holiday a little early, but with a new-found determination in his eyes, a rough-shaped plan in mind and some extra luggage. He'd spent a lot of time haunting the attic and cellar of his family's mansion for forgotten goods, and discovered a lot.

And on New Year's he had sat down and thought, long and hard.

His memories, he had found, were not so much fading as they were being overwritten by new ones. The urgency to take action disappeared as long as nothing too bad happened, only to spike when it did – and the attack on himself had demonstrated just how dangerous his attitude actually was.

He might be avoiding the mistakes he had committed in those memories, but he was still far from actively trying to change the future. Especially when the oddities and dangers – the attacks, Professor Parker, the missing Horcrux and the slumbering Basilisk – were very much there and present.

So when the fireworks went off, he resolved two things: one, do something and two, find somebody to push him forward.

The latter had taken further thinking and careful reconsideration once he spent his first night in his dorm bed back at Hogwarts while Sirius ranted about his brother bonding with snakes, mad headmasters and how glad he was to have James back.

The next day they went flying, testing out the new brooms they both had received for Christmas. And then James took a deep breath and decided to put his plan in action.

* * *

It was late afternoon and Severus had settled for some reading in the library when footsteps alerted him to somebody approaching. He glanced up, and was surprised to see James Potter – hadn't he been circling the castle on a broomstick just moments ago? In spite of having being hit by a stray spell at exact the same place not even a month earlier?

Severus wanted to turn back to his book, but James headed straight for him – his expression grim, yet set.

"I need to talk to you," James hissed, and then reached out to grasp Severus roughly by the upper arm, "Come with me."

_tbc_

* * *

_Thank you for reading & please feel free to drop me a line ^_^  
_


	12. Changing Positions

**Disclaimer: **Obviously not mine. :)

**Warnings: **None for this chapter.

**AN: **Thank you all very much for reading and reviewing!

BrightWatcher: Thank you for reading! I'm glad you enjoy the plot - it's a bit convoluted, but should all make sense eventually. :)

CastlePhoenix: Thank you very much for reading! Harry and James will interact at some point, though I doubt either of them will be putting all their cards on the table too soon. However, James and Snape may end up being a bit more honest to each other.

kittyhawk09: Thank you for reading! I'm glad you enjoyed that little scene there - I somewhat wanted to get Regulus on the scene, too, and the uncle was a welcome option. And well, here goes the James and Severus scene. ^_^ (btw, the scenery in your icon looks familiar. Where exactly is that?). Also, you have a good point on questioning the motives behind Tom's time travelling shenanigans.

Hurricane Jackson: Thank you very much for reading! I hope you'll enjoy future installments, too. :)

Zireal07: Thank you very much for reading! And well, I guess "smooth" depends on your definition? ^_~

Saramagician: Thank you very much for reading! I was kind hesitant about setting up that scene, but it needed to be done - because it is central to the plot, and I really, really wanted to write it. :)

afhirfearness0423: Thank you very much for reading! And please feel free to wear your slash goggles for the rest of the story. I'm not plotting any big romances, but I want to let the characters get emotionally close. :)

deanine: Thank you very much for reading! To be honest it probably looks a little more complicated than it is - I'm just setting up a number of storylines that ought to converge later on. So it should all make sense eventually.

Galgalatz: Thank you for reading! And your guess is very, very much dead on. ^_~

**Thank you all very, very much!**

* * *

**12. Changing Positions**

James could feel Severus resisting, but the Slytherin kept silent until they were out of earshot of the librarian. Then Severus tried to wrench his arm out of James' grip, but the Gryffindor held on. He could just about wrap his hand around Severus' upper arm, which gave him a definitive advantage – at least until James could concentrate enough to summon the Room of Requirement.

"Let go!" Severus hissed.

"No," said James, and continued forward – the wall ahead was reshaping itself – "This is important."

"Potter, let go of me!" said Severus, and the rustling of clothes told James a wand was being pulled.

The door took shape, and James whirled around to look down at Severus right in front of it. Apparently the door's appearance had thrown the Slytherin enough to stop struggling, and let his wand sink.

"Snape, believe me, this is … beyond you and me, really," he shook his head, "Just let me show you."

Severus blinked up at him, distrust prominent in those wide, dark eyes.

"Please?" added James, and that was enough for Severus to let himself be pulled through the doorway.

Inside the Room of Requirement imitated a comfortable sitting room with two armchairs, a fireplace and a table in the middle. The walls were thankfully empty of portraits – a factor James had only figured somewhat belatedly, and now he could only hope he hadn't missed anything else important.

Behind them the door shut and vanished. Severus jumped, and James let go of his arm.

"Take a seat," he told Severus, who was glancing around uneasily and rubbed his upper arm. Meanwhile James retrieved a small bigger-on-the-inside, especially-for-fragile-artifacts parcel from his robe.

The investigation of his family's manor had yielded a small, beautifully sculptured pensieve among other things. And James had already set up this one with his memories.

Snape remained standing, his entire posture radiating suspicion.

"Do you know what this is?" asked James as he carefully placed the pensieve on the table.

Severus swallowed, hesitated, but then shook his head.

"A pensieve," said James, keeping his voice even. His heart was beating fast – in his imagination this meeting had always gone so well; and only now he realized how much rode on this to work. He needed Severus to believe him -

"Do you…?"

"I know what a pensieve does, Potter," said Severus abruptly.

James nodded and took a deep breath. "Well, that makes things easier, I guess," he attempted a chuckle, but it trailed off oddly in the heavy silence.

Suddenly James felt the weight of his entire scheme bear upon him. This was bold; maybe brave and maybe stupid, went against all rules of time travel (but he wasn't a time traveler, so perhaps the rules did not apply?), and also went against all advice he knew any adult would have or would give him.

He looked at Severus – who, at this time was nothing but a tiny, skinny Slytherin and far from the powerful wizard so central to the future James remembered.

The ramifications of what he was about to do went beyond anything James could realistically imagine.

"Right," he said, "Anyhow, as I said, I wanted to show you something."

He swallowed, and Severus remained silent.

"Those," he gestured to the pensieve, "Are my memories. Or rather, this is what I woke up remembering on September 1st, last year. As you'll see, some things are a bit different, but…"

He shrugged.

Severus tilted his head. "And what about that? I mean, why show me your memories?"

"I can't really explain," said James, "Just have a look, okay?"

Hesitantly Severus took a step forward. Slowly his eyes left James' face, drawn by the silvery liquid. And when he was drawn in, James followed suit.

They were standing in the Hogwarts express – the scene eerily similar to what had happened barely a month ago. Snape glanced around in obvious confusion, his eyes widened as he caught sight of one James Potter seated in a compartment, and another standing next to him.

Then the scene began to play out. Severus remained silent as they watched himself and Lily enter the compartment – the unlucky conversation take place – and end with Severus and Lily leaving, while James and Sirius started out on the friendship of a lifetime.

Severus – the one watching with James – turned around. "This didn't happen," he said, quietly, and those dark eyes gauged James closely. James snorted. "No, it did not."

"Then, what…"

"Watch, and find out," James smiled grimly.

They watched seven years at Hogwarts speed past. Saw James and Sirius mock Severus, saw how Lupin turned away and Lily alter between unhappiness and anger. Then the pranks Severus' housemates had played, the blood that had been spilled – and James' stomach twisted.

The incident in the Shrieking Shack, and James was tempted to stop the memories. Severus' eyes were wide, filled with an unreadable emotion and his face as pale as the wall. What followed in Dumbledore's office only garnered a snort from the Severus beside him – James looked over questioningly, having expected some sort of an outburst.

Then came the scene after the OWLs.

"What is this supposed to lead up to, Potter?" Severus asked, his voice rather even and lacking in emotion.

James, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable, glanced down at him. "Keep watching. You'll understand."

Things, James knew, were bound to get worse.

They lingered shortly at the wedding of James Potter and Lily Evans, both barely out of school. Then followed little Harry – and James couldn't help the affection blossoming in his chest. Yet Harry's appearance was followed by Voldemort – and then everything went to hell.

"Lily … died?" Severus asked, quietly. There's was a soft tremor in his voice, and James swallowed against the emotions rising in his chest.

"Yes," James considered adding more, but after his death came clarity. The revelation of just who had passed on the prophecy – and James saw Severus shudder. Neither commented on James having memories of a time after his death – it probably paled in comparison to him having memories of a future that had not yet happened after all.

In silence they watched the following years play out. Petunia being the horrid woman she was, Harry arriving at Hogwarts – the plots, the dangers, the Stone, the Chamber, Sirius' escape, Voldemort's return, Peter, Bellatrix, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Regulus retrieval of the Horcrux, Kreacher's actions, the disaster at the ministry, Lupin and Tonks finding a bit of happiness among it all. Snape's spying missions, Dumbledore's plots, the desperate quest for the Horcruxes – and then came the battle, and James and Severus watched about everybody they know die.

As Voldemort finally was destroyed, James pulled them from his memories.

"That is the future," James said, before Severus had a chance to open his mouth, "That's how things will turn out unless we do something about it."

Severus was as white as he'd been in the hospital wing, and James, too, felt nauseous. He'd rarely looked that closely at these memories – the emotions too intense, the grief too sharp. With a heavy sigh, James stumbled backwards and collapsed into one of the armchairs.

His heart was racing, his hands sweaty and his head pounding.

Severus unconsciously crossed his arms over his chest – he was trembling faintly. "Why should I believe you?"

Their eyes met. Natural occlumens Severus may be, there was no disguising the shock in his eyes.

"There are ways to tell fake memories from real ones," James shrugged, "Anyhow, why should I lie about this?"

"Then why are you telling me this?" asked Severus, and perhaps his words hid a plea for James to say that none of those memories had been true, "What do you expect? Why tell me? Why not Black or Lupin, or Dumbledore?"

His voice pitched up, and James saw him sway.

"Sit down before you fall over," he said, and when, after a moment, Severus made to follow his advice, he continued, "Many reasons. But well, you know, things are changing already. And somehow due to that you got attacked – so I thought you'd probably like to find out who was behind this."

Severus paled further. "You think that was …" Then he shook his head with a frown. "Why? I mean, if somebody attacked me because of what you remember that suggests they'd know what you do. That doesn't make sense."

James sighed. "Yes, but think about it. The spell used…"

"Sectumsempra," said Snape.

James nodded. "Yes. That was originally your invention. In fifth year, I believe. Who else but a time traveler or somebody who knows what I do could cast it?"

Severus swallowed. "And Parker knew it. That's why you warned me to stay away from him – he wasn't in those memories, either."

"Yes, I don't remember him at all," said James grimly.

"You think he did it?" asked Severus, and then frowned thoughtfully, "Though that doesn't really make sense, either, don't you think? Why would he attack me and then draw attention to himself by being the only one to know a spell that doesn't yet exist? That's … stupid."

"Maybe he wanted attention?" suggested James with a shrug.

"For healing obscure spells? If he's really a time traveler, I suppose he'd have better things to do if he wanted attention," said Severus.

"Well, I've got nothing," said James, "But still, he's suspicious. And I'm sure he's a time traveler – because, you know, most things that went differently from my memory were things I tried to consciously affect."

"Also your dip in the lake before Christmas?" asked Severus and raised one eyebrow.

James sighed. "No. Most things, I said. There's a lot of more stuff happening that I had nothing to do with – the attacks, and some other stuff, too."

"So maybe those memories aren't as true as you want them to be?" asked Severus.

James had to take a deep breath to calm himself. Everything in him was screaming in protest, but he forced himself to stay logical.

"Maybe," he admitted, "Though as far as I can tell they are perfectly true. And as you have experienced them yourself – do you think those were fake?"

To his satisfaction Severus' shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. Silence descended for a moment, and James relaxed back into his armchair.

"Still, why tell me?" asked Severus quietly.

"I don't want that future to come to pass," replied James – and the honesty in his words surprised even himself. This was his innermost desire, and he had unwittingly bared it to somebody who, in those memories, had been among his worst enemies.

However, this Severus only nodded without a word.

James lost himself in memories – the sky-high happiness of twirling Lily in his arms, of holding Harry close to his chest, or running through the forest with Sirius, Remus and Peter; the heart-breaking grief of losing friends and relatives; the horror of the battlefield, of being hunted, and of that terrifying last night.

"I see why you told me," said Severus, "Who else are you going to tell?"

James shrugged. "Nobody for now, I think. We two have been the only ones attacked, after all."

Severus blinked. "Does anybody else know? I mean, if they attacked us for what you remember, wouldn't they share your memories?"

"No, I mean I didn't tell anybody. I've even made sure not to look at Dumbledore for too long," James managed a dark grin at that, "And anyhow, I think the attacker was a time traveler.

"But it's odd," said Severus thoughtfully, "That apparently the future you remember is identical to the one the time traveler came from, yet the events of the last half-a-year have been subtly different?"

"I think that was us interfering," replied James.

The contemplative look didn't quite disappear from Severus' face, but he let the topic slide. "Well, if it isn't Parker, that would suggest a third party at work. Which makes sense, seeing as Parker was teaching when you got attacked."

"Yes, I really can't figure him out," said James, "I wish I knew what side he was on… Though whoever attacked us was definitely with You-Know-Who."

Severus blinked. "You think they're trying to change the future?"

"Why else would you travel in time?" asked James.

Severus looked about to say something, but James continued, "And I want to change the future, too, so perhaps that is not too unusual?"

"You want to…" Severus trailed off, and his eyes widened.

James nodded, with determination written all over his face, even though on the inside he was trembling. "Change the future. I don't want to watch everybody die all over again – and well, the only way to change this really, would be to stop You-Know-Who. Which seems only about fair when somebody on his side has obviously traveled back in time for the very same purpose."

Severus was staring at him as if he was mad. "Potter, we're not even of age! To say nothing of our magical capacities! That's …"

"I'm not saying I want to take on the Death Eaters or anything," said James, "But you saw my memories. Don't you think there's some opportunities for sabotage there?"

"You're insane," said Severus, "If there's another time traveler around sabotage will get them on your trail."

"But I've already been attacked, haven't I?" asked James conversationally, "And so have you."

When Severus fell into shocked silence, James carried on: "We are already targets, Snape, so I guess the best we can do is fight back. I'm not saying going for any outright confrontation, but just subtly manipulating things. Us not becoming enemies is probably a good step. There's the Horcruxes that could be destroyed. Our friends and classmates we could influence."

Not, James thought, that he had yet made any particular try at binding Peter closer to him.

"Or figure out who the time traveler is," said Severus.

"Or that," agreed James.

"It's probably somebody at Hogwarts," said Severus, "I mean I don't think there were any visitors at the castle the days you and I were attacked."

"That's true. But," said James, and lifted a hand, "Two other things have happened. One – the Horcrux at Hogwarts, the diadem, has disappeared. I went looking for it last year, but it wasn't there. And then, did you see the article in the Prophet about the fire at Little Hangleton?"

"Back in November?" Severus tilted his head, "But that only made headlines because nobody could figure whether it was Fiendfire or a muggle drug experiment gone wrong?"

Then realization crossed his face, and James nodded along. "However, there was also one Horcrux hidden at that particular abandoned mansion. I tried to see a picture – and from the color of the smoke, that Horcrux is no more."

"Somebody out there is going around destroying Horcruxes?" Severus grimaced, "But whoever attacked us – they'd not be destroying them, would they?"

"One explanation would be that somebody just found out about them. Or maybe it was an accident," said James, "The most intriguing question however is, how did they find out. From my memories it is quite clear that, Professor Slughorn aside, You-Know-Who never let anybody in on his Horcruxes."

"And it's highly unlikely Professor Slughorn is out there destroying Horcruxes he doesn't know exist," added Severus, "That would suggest a fourth unknown party. Potter, are you certain those memories are real?"

James grimaced and cast a look at the silvery liquid. "As complicated as it is – would there be any other explanation for what is happening?"

* * *

"Here, I think that might be of interest for you," said one of Tom's colleagues and tossed a parcel on his desk, "Some auror got their hands on it during a raid – needless to say, he's not got his hands anymore, so be careful – there's some pretty ancient and vicious curses on it."

The parcel, as far as Tom could tell, contained a book. And to himself he smiled – during his work here he'd managed to get his hands on several highly illegal dark magic tomes, as well as a handful of other useful objects. It was almost laughable how simply these were to acquire once he had the job – especially when he recalled how he fought for every scrap of knowledge back at Hogwarts.

"Also," the colleague – Marcus Lepaine – leaned forward, "Your little speech on New Year's garnered some interest. Consider yourself invited to London next month – we're having a little club meeting there."

In lieu of anything better to do Tom had joined the Lepain New Year's Party, held at the family manor in southern Wales, and many of the New Year speeches had held political content. Tom had been rather heartened to hear people share his views – though there had been gaping holes in some declarations, and eventually he had stepped up himself, cast a smile at the crowd and proceeded to conjure his own vision.

The crowd had been enthusiastic.

"I'll think about it," replied Tom, while his mind started turning. In truth, he itched to go – there was so much going wrong in people's heads – but getting involved in politics if he had to disappear at some point was pointless.

"Well, if you could tell me around next week?" asked Lepain, and then turned to go, "Have fun with the book."

_tbc_

* * *

_Thank you very much for reading & please feel free to drop me a line.  
_


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